


oh it puts the heart in my chest on wings

by h_lovely, skittidyne



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Friends, Doctor Suga, Domestic Fluff, Entire Lifetime Fic, Growing Old Together, High School Confessions, M/M, Mild Smut, Old Married Couple, Other Pairings Briefly Mentioned - Freeform, Romantic Fluff, Teacher Daichi, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_lovely/pseuds/h_lovely, https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: emere
  
noun.mythology. a person who can travel between the spiritual and physical realms. a negative connotation is associated with the word; the term implies that they are spirits in disguise, misrepresenting life, or that they may disappear and reappear at will. emere are impatient beings who want the best of heaven and earth, and most often die on a particular day of joy, depending on the degree of happiness the event may cause. they are also believed to be extremely pretty, and more powerful than witches.





	1. i want to believe in the miracle that you and i met

Daichi is not yet eight years old when he first sees a glimpse of that silver-blond hair, shining vibrant against a backdrop of summer blue. The scruffy locks are falling amongst scattered clouds and high arching branches of familiar green foliage dense between his family home and a well-explored fishing creek. Strands of that silver-blond scatter through the thick air everywhere, falling.

 _Falling_. The boy beneath the mop of distracting, luminescent hair is falling— _right on top of Daichi_.

Solid dirt is beneath him before he realizes it, tiny hands digging painfully into his bony shoulders and pushing until Daichi is met by a wide pair of hazel eyes that seem to rival his distraction-by-silver-blond from seconds before.

Daichi is winded; that’s the first thing that comes to his mind, the second is his innate sense of fight or flight, but then the boy’s head cocks to the side and regards him in the most curious manner and really someone this small, Daichi thinks, should not cause him to want to run.

“Who are you?” If those were the words Daichi had been expecting, it’s news to him.

“Daichi,” he answers anyways, knee-jerk, because he’s not yet eight years old and formalities are still a little beyond him when it comes to personal terms.

The boy atop him grins large enough that Daichi can count the number of teeth he is currently missing (four, from what he can make out) and the little crinkles that form at the edges of his eyes force Daichi’s brows to furrow and he tries to determine just what he said that could possibly be so amusing.

For a second he thinks maybe he is supposed to continue on with the introduction. But what would be appropriate? Should they shake hands or bow like he’s seen his father do countless times in varying degrees of seriousness. But of course neither boy is wearing a suit or tie or anything adult-like and they’re still tangled on the ground so maybe this was not quite a hand-shaking or head-bowing type of occasion.

Daichi thinks, watching the other boy’s smile finally start to wane towards something a bit less blinding, that if he were a little more outgoing or more _audacious_ (a word he’s heard his teacher say a hundred times when speaking about students other than himself) then maybe he would have actually said something that would have warranted such a smile in the first place.

But Daichi is not audacious. He is seven (and three-quarters) and is told, often, not to be so serious.

The boy fusses with a fly-away bouncing over his forehead, none-too concerned with Daichi’s quietness. “I’m Koushi,” he says plainly, gaze never leaving Daichi’s own.

 _Koushi_. It’s sort of a different name the way it rolls off the tongue and Daichi wonders if there’s any meaning behind it, but he doesn’t bother to ask because his gut is starting to ache a bit with the weight of another boy on top of him. Granted, Koushi is hardly larger than himself, in fact he’s probably the tiniest bit thinner on all accounts, but it’s still not the most comfortable of positions. He’s pretty sure he can feel a bug crawling up his calf.

As if reading his mind Koushi’s ears start to turn pink, an impressive shade against his pale skin, and he starts to scramble off of Daichi with some muttered apologies and things Daichi cannot make out. The behavior is almost as different as the name.

Daichi sits up as soon as Koushi’s given him some space and swipes methodically at his admittedly already dirt-ridden shorts and quirks his gaze up to catch the tail end of a frown on the other boy’s lips. The expression is entirely opposite the smile from before and for a moment Daichi feels badly, though he has no idea why. This boy is the one who fell on top of _him_ after all.

“Where did you come from?” Daichi squints at the way Koushi’s shoulders jump up around his ears as if he’s forgotten that he wasn’t alone. But when he turns back all Daichi can see now is that toothy (minus four) grin.

In lieu of an actual response, Koushi’s small finger points upward and Daichi stretches his neck to follow the gesture. They are sat beneath a large keyaki, its stump covered in ashy bark and thick with age, its dark branches bending outward to hover overhead and shade the sun from view with thousands of paper-thin leaves. Daichi stares up past the shadows mottling both their faces to spot the crisp red and white crane staring down at them, eyes lifeless and ink black.

The kite appears to be stuck, rustling every few seconds in the breeze, taunting the onlookers as its wings feign flight before settling back onto the branch it clings to.

“Oh,” Daichi says for lack of anything else and Koushi nods firmly because no more of an explanation needs to be exchanged between them, really.

Climbing trees has never been a problem for Daichi. Actually, he’s exceptionally good at it because, as his elder sister likes to say, he’s _got good meat on his bones,_ whatever that means.

Starting is always the hardest part. Daichi sizes up the tree before him, studying it carefully and trying to avoid the fact that he can practically feel the other boy’s eyes boring intent holes in the side of his face. He finds a sturdy gnarl at waist height and hikes his foot up onto it with little trouble.

Koushi hums an agreeable noise at his choice and technique and Daichi wonders just what he’d done earlier to get himself into such a precarious position that he’d ended up needing Daichi as a makeshift landing pad.

He reaches for the lowest hanging branch. _Creak_ , it groans under his meager weight but he’s practiced enough not to fret over the brittle noise because a second later it’s bending to accommodate him as he pulls upward, feet scrabbling at the thick bark and then, with little more hesitation, he’s off.

The climb becomes easier once he forces his way higher, up and up until the branches are as thick as his torso and the sunshine burns more pronounced against his forearms.

He slips once, panic finding him only for the heartbeat it takes for his thighs to squeeze around the branch he’s clung to. “Daichi!” Koushi calls from below, tone rather unshaken for a seven or eight year old, and his name sounds different somehow coming from a voice he’s not yet grown accustomed to. Daichi waves an ‘all good’ but does not make the mistake of looking down.

It only takes a few more well-spotted footholds and a slightly scraped palm for the crane to appear within his grasp. The retrieval ends up taking more tugging and branch shaking than expected, but the end result is really something.

As the crane floats down on paper wings towards its owner’s waiting arms, Daichi’s ears perk at a trill of laughter echoing up from beneath him. He takes his chances and finally looks down just as Koushi’s thin legs give a powerful jump and his fingers clutch at the kite’s frame with the delicacy of someone much older than them handling a priceless family heirloom.

But it’s the joy radiating from the boy below him that turns out to be entirely contagious.

“Thank you!” Koushi hollers, grinning up at Daichi so sincere that Daichi can’t help but smile back.

 

…

 

“It’s nice to meet you!” the new student announces to the class with a crooked bow.

His name is Koushi. This Daichi knows because the new student is, in fact, the same boy that had fallen from the heavens and landed Daichi flat on his back not more than three days prior.

His full name is Sugawara Koushi. This Daichi knows thanks to his teacher’s very monotone, but not unkind introduction.

Koushi moves to sit in the vacant seat in the very back corner of the classroom. It’s actually quite a sought after piece of real estate considering its proximity to the windows looking out onto the courtyard. But it is the farthest desk away from Daichi’s (front row corner nearest the door) and for some unearthly reason the distance makes Daichi’s shoulders slump.

He’d sort of enjoyed helping Koushi with his kite; grass stains and all.

 

…

 

It only takes two days for some of the kids in his class to start picking on Sugawara Koushi (namely the kids who think they are tougher than everyone else, but usually cry at the littlest of things—like the one time when Daichi himself had unprecedentedly beat them all in a spontaneous bout of arm wrestling).

The bullies go with the easy, stereotypical strategies first. Name-calling and picking him last in gym class, those sorts of things. It’s the typical stuff any elementary schooler might actually expect from an eight year old bully that’s gotten a bit too big for his uniform.

At first, along with most of his other classmates, Daichi observes the ritualistic behavior from the sidelines with a nervous ache in his tummy, but does not intervene.

For what it is worth, Koushi simply ignores them.

After a couple more days things progress to a more physical level. Knocking his milk over in the morning or swiping the best-looking morsels from his bento at lunch. They’ve dropped the name calling altogether and are apparently trying to assert their dominance in other, more animalistic ways.

It sets Daichi’s teeth on edge, but still Koushi does nothing.

On the last day of Koushi’s first week is when Daichi finds out his breaking point.

Specifically (for future reference) it is when he sees Koushi sat on the ground, the contents of his school bag scattered in the dirt around him, and two boys standing over him with lording, noxious expressions.

“Hey!” he yells, his entire world coating over in filter of red.

For a second he’s standing before them, fists clenched, action-ready. The next he finds himself sprawled on the ground, shoulder somewhat tender but pride beginning to pulse in his chest with a ferocious ache.

Koushi is standing in front of him, expression unreadable with his body turned, but his feet are planted firmly. His right fist is clenched not unlike Daichi’s from a second before and it hangs by his side, innocuous.

The tallest of the two offenders is holding his jaw and making a faint whining noise and that’s when Daichi’s eyes focus enough to make out the redness blooming on his skin making way for what is sure to be one heck of a bruise.

When his mind finally catches up to him and the scenario’s pieces begin to fall into place Daichi actually has to bite his tongue against the urge to laugh.

The two boys scamper off, proverbial tails between their legs, but when Koushi turns with an outstretched hand his face is not filled with pride or anger like Daichi assumed it would be.

Instead his eyes are wide, _intense_. He’s _smiling_.

“They’re monsters, all of them,” Daichi chokes out, for lack of anything else to say. “Dumb, ugly monsters.”

“It’s okay, Daichi,” Koushi answers, his grin brighter than it seemingly should be in such a situation. “Those kind of monsters I can handle.”

 

…

 

As it turns out, Koushi can handle a lot of things.

Skipping stones and hide-and-seek and volleyball too. He’s intelligent, even good with numbers (which proves to be a bit frustrating as math is the one subject that Daichi cannot seem to excel in). And Koushi is _fast_ , the fastest in their entire grade according to their physical ed instructor.

All of these things added up, Daichi considers, make Sugawara Koushi a very good friend indeed, perhaps even _best friend material_. He’s not completely decided on it yet (there are a lot of factors that go into choosing a best friend, as everyone knows) but all signs are slowly starting to point to _Koushi_.

And in the end, perhaps most impressive of all, Koushi definitely does _not_ need Daichi’s hotheaded assistance to take care of school bullies.

In fact, those boys are still avoiding Koushi (and therefore Daichi in association) like the plague.

But it isn’t just the bullies that look at Koushi warily. The realization hits Daichi approximately one week into their (trial) best friendship as they walk together through the cafeteria to the table he has sat at since he was five years old (because Daichi is, if nothing else, a creature of habit). It isn’t so obvious at first, but Daichi watches the eyes following them with interest; it isn’t just the bullies, it’s _everyone_.

“Why did you transfer schools?” Daichi says around a mouthful of rice.

Koushi looks up with some interest, dragging chopsticks through a bowl of tofu drenched in bright red chili. He doesn’t look nervous or offended, so Daichi doesn’t immediately redact the question in favor of satisfying his curiosity.

Koushi smiles that minus-four teeth smile and then shrugs before tucking into his lunch. “Why do you always eat your rice first?” he asks in counter, sounding petulant if he weren’t still smiling (a bit deviously). There’s a beat and Daichi’s not sure how exactly to proceed, but then Koushi looks back up. “Dad’s work,” he answers offhandedly.

“My mother says it’s a habit since I was little,” Daichi offers in kind, feeling a little like maybe he shouldn’t have asked such a personal question in the first place. (They weren’t best friends yet, after all.)

“You’re still pretty little,” Koushi says without missing a beat and the fact that an eight year old such as himself has as sharp a tongue as some of Daichi’s older cousins is just one more thing to add to his ever-growing list.

Daichi frowns, but it doesn’t seem to affect Koushi in any way. “Two centimeters,” he gripes. “Besides, mom says I’m due for a growth spurt any day now.”

Koushi beams across from him, straightening his spine as if showing off his extra centimeters just to rub it in Daichi’s face some more. “Your mother sounds nice.”

The statement throws Daichi for a little loop, but he’s able to grasp the compliment in time to respond appropriately. “Maybe you can come over for dinner sometime? She makes the best shoyu ramen.”

“Maybe—” Koushi starts, but is interrupted when a tray is set down next to him, its contents rattling.

“Sawamura Daichi, why haven’t you introduced me to your new friend, huh?”

Daichi stares across the table at the only other smile that might be able to rival Koushi’s. He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s already too late as Michimiya Yui clasps Koushi’s hand and starts spitting out a rapid-fire introduction that seems to only faze the silver-blond for few short seconds before he’s blindly matching her enthusiasm.

So, with his friend in good hands, Daichi goes back to his lunch.

 

…

 

“Ready or not, here I come!”

Daichi turns, uncovering his eyes, grinning with his usual determination. Hide and seek is easy with fewer kids, and Takeshi and Hayato and Yui had already been called home. So that leaves Koushi and Daichi, with one last round before Daichi must return home, too.

Not that he wants this to be a fast game, since it’s still early and there’s plenty of daylight left, but he has his pride. Sawamura Daichi: hide and seek champion. Koushi, for all his cleverness, is _definitely_ not going to win this round.

The park isn’t huge, but it’s not small, either. Daichi casually meanders through the playground, hands in his pockets, checking over the easiest spots like it’s beneath him to expend much effort on them. They should both know that they’re better than _those_ spots. Trees are good for short-term hiding, but also easy to mess up, and Daichi doesn’t spot any awkward elbows sticking out.

Koushi may be good, but Daichi is going to win.

He still doesn’t actually know how good the other boy may be at climbing, but after a cursory scan of the nearer trees, Daichi decides that he’s probably not up a tree and praying Daichi won’t find him. Koushi doesn’t seem like the type to rely on luck. Or maybe he is. Daichi might be making a few assumptions about his newest friend. But he _seems_ like he wants to win on his own power, like how Daichi likes to win when hiding. They must be alike in that regard.

Daichi’s casual circle of the park doesn’t turn up any clues. There are no mad dashes in which Daichi tries to tag him, nor triumphant shouts of discovery. Koushi may be better at this than anticipated, even if he hadn’t shown _that_ much skill when they first started. This park is closest to Hayato’s house, but Daichi is plenty familiar with it himself.

He double-checks the drainage ditch on the far side of the park again just as the sun begins to set proper. He rubs his arms beneath his sweater; it’s getting chilly, and his mom will probably be calling for him soon. He hadn’t thought he’d take this long.

“Okay, you _might_ have a good spot,” Daichi calls, as loud as he can, hands cupped around his mouth. “But I’m still gonna win!”

No response. Half the time, Koushi falls for the bait, just to tease. Daichi grumbles to himself and shoves his hands into his pockets. This is getting a little less fun, but he’s still determined. Daichi is _not_ a quitter. And if he still has time before curfew, then fate has to be on his side.

He checks every tree, all around the trunk and in all of the branches, and triple-checks the playground equipment. The twilight is beginning to mess with his depth perception as well as his normal vision, and frustration is setting in in earnest.

By the time his mother comes to get him, red-cheeked and harried from her errands running late and extra grumpy herself because he supposedly should have been on his way home already, Daichi is in a sour mood. When asked, he just mutters, “Koushi didn’t come out, even when I told him I was done seeking.”

“Sounds like your friend might be a sore winner,” his mother advises, humoring him. The new term is enough to distract Daichi from most of his irritation.

He doesn’t see Koushi again for another three days; he shows up to school after just as many absences, looking a little paler than usual, blue smudges beneath his eyes from tiredness. But he _still_ breaks into a bright grin that shows off all his teeth (well, minus the gaps) and comes right over to Daichi with all the enthusiasm of normalcy between them.

He doesn’t comment on his absence or the sour end to their game, all through the school day, and Daichi thinks he may just ignore it—he doesn’t like ignoring things, but maybe he’ll let it lie if Koushi wants—until, walking home together, Koushi just cheekily tells him, “ _New_ hide and seek champion, huh?”

“You cheated,” Daichi says at once.

“Oh? How?”

“I…” He falters, because there’s no real way of cheating unless he’d just actually _left_ , and that seems far too rude and mean for the Koushi he knows.

Koushi titters at Daichi’s hesitance, and bumps their arms together, a little too forcefully. Daichi rubs his elbow and glares at him. “You’re right,” Koushi dramatically announces, and Daichi stares in confusion, until he adds, “I cheated. Sorry! I’ll bring you extra snacks tomorrow to make up for it, ‘kay?”

He doesn’t explain _how_ or even _why_ he cheated—Daichi _definitely_ didn’t think he was that type—and dodges any other attempt at bringing it up. Daichi remembers sore winners, and doesn’t press Koushi any further.

 

…

 

It is a Monday and Koushi isn’t in school.

Daichi doesn’t think too much of it. It's not like it's the first time or anything and he’s still able to do all of the things he would normally be doing on a Monday, just without the little shadow he’d since grown accustomed to. It is most difficult in gym class though, without his usual person to set practice spikes for him.

On the second day of Koushi’s absence his teacher pulls him aside just before the last bell and asks if he would deliver some homework to the Sugawara household, this request coming mostly due to Sugawara-san’s apparently erratic work schedule. Daichi accepts the task with pride and walks with confidence and a puffed chest all the way to Koushi’s house that evening until he reaches the tiny porch and realizes, a little belatedly, that he’s never been past the front door before, let alone the front gate.

But the door is painted an inviting red and despite his hesitation, the metallic dragon shaped knocker is enticing enough to spur Daichi back to his previous confidence. He has to stand on his toes to reach it, but once he does he knocks. Once, twice, three times.

No answer.

So he tries again, a little more forceful this time, slamming the dragon’s tail into its golden plate. _Four_ knocks, for good measure this time.

Still no one comes to the door. No hazel eyes peek out the front window. He sees no sign of a sickly, pajama clad, runny nose Koushi anywhere.

But, because Daichi is still feeling particularly determined about the task that has been entrusted to him, he plops down on the front stoop and waits.

He waits and waits and waits. He waits for what must be a really long time because the sun has started to dip in the sky and his tummy growls reproachfully up at him. And even though he’s knocked another dozen times or so, no one has come to answer the door.

Of course, this is when Daichi’s natural tendency towards concern (the one he apparently gets from his father) comes in and he begins to wonder if Koushi is even in there at all.

Maybe he is so sick that he had to be taken to the hospital. Or perhaps he’s not sick at all and just playing hooky like Daichi’s seen rebellious teenagers do on television sometimes. But Daichi is fairly sure that Koushi is neither rebellious nor untrustworthy enough to actually skip school, so that worry is quickly squashed.

Maybe Koushi is just a really heavy sleeper and he’s inside, burrowed under a hundred blankets and won’t _ever_ hear Daichi’s frantic knocking. Maybe he’s in the bath. Or maybe he’s just simply not home.

Daichi hopes that nothing horrible or serious has happened to Koushi (because, after all, he is certain that Koushi’s new position of best friend will not be so easily replaced) and slips the papers his teacher had handed him earlier underneath the front door. His mom will start to worry if he comes home too late, and besides, Koushi will probably be back in school tomorrow anyways.

But Koushi is _not_ back in school the next day.

Or the next.

Daichi’s teacher gives him more work to send home and Daichi worries about the perpetually locked, dragon-guarded, red front door all the way there.

In all his confidence that Koushi would definitely be in school that day Daichi had asked his mom to pack not one, but two of her homemade Dorayaki in his lunch as a celebratory welcome back treat.

But Koushi hadn’t shown up and Daichi’s appetite for sweets had plummeted down to zero sometime between the first bell and roll call. They now sat forgotten at the bottom of his backpack.

Daichi clutches at the papers in his hand, staring up at the red door with enough frustration that he can feel his brows angling in over his eyes. That golden dragon will not defeat him today.

With a deep, formidable breath he rocks up to his toes and knocks, probably a bit too forcefully.

After a few beats no one answers, but this does not deter Daichi. Instead he starts up a continuous cycle, knocking and waiting and knocking and waiting and wondering why in the world Sugawara-san wouldn’t have called the school by now if something serious enough to keep them away from their home had come up like this.

The sun is starting to dip and there has still yet to be an answer.

Daichi begins to wonder if he’ll ever get to see Koushi again. His heart is heavy with the thought as he slips the papers under the door and turns on his heel with a resigned little sigh.

But then the door cracks open behind him.

At the sound Daichi spins to spot a sliver of an eye watching him, and if it wasn’t such a familiar gaze Daichi might have even been a little startled at the creepy sight.

“Koushi?” he asks, taking a step back up onto the landing.

The door slams back shut and for a moment Daichi thinks his insides might just disintegrate. But then there’s a bit of clicking and a muffled few words and the door is being thrown wide open.

Koushi stands there, barefoot and clad in pastel patterned pajamas (just as Daichi had imagined) and looking—well, not really so worse for wear if he’d been sick for going on three days straight now. He does appear to be out of breath though, hair matted against his forehead, and the common smudges under his eyes are a bit more pronounced than usual.

“You’re here!” Daichi splutters, moving to close the gap between them but not yet crossing the threshold.

Koushi gives him a funny look, head tilting a bit to the side. “This is my house,” he answers finally, no hint of sarcasm, just generally objective.

“Yes but—” Daichi finds the words a little bit lost on his tongue and his fingers start to tug at the hem of his shirt. “—well, I was here Monday and there wasn’t an answer and you haven’t been in school for three days and—”

A little gasp sounds between them and Daichi looks up to find Koushi’s eyes wide. “ _You’re_ the one who brought me my homework?”

Daichi nods several times. “And Dorayaki,” he explains.

Koushi observes him and blinks. “Oh.”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other Daichi looks down at the pile of scattered papers on the floor in front of Koushi. “Um, are you still sick?”

“Sick?” Koushi’s voice peaks in volume. “Er, um, no I’m better now. Sorry, you didn’t have to bring my stuff—I kinda get sick a lot and you don’t have to—”

“That’s okay.” Daichi interrupts him with his most matter-of-fact smile. “I can bring your homework any time you’re sick.”

“Any time?” Koushi sounds a bit doubtful and Daichi decides that he much prefers the tone Koushi uses when he’s teasing him about his height.

“Of course!” he nods with triumph. “And mom always makes loads of extra food and sweets.”

“But Daichi—”

“C’mon, Koushi,” Daichi admonishes. “I don’t care if you miss some school—I mean it _is_ a little boring without you and Yui can’t really set as well as you can—” he shoots Koushi a considering look though his smile only grows larger, “—so just promise me you’ll always come back!”

There’s a second where Daichi thinks perhaps he’s said the wrong thing because suddenly Koushi looks like a deer in the headlights, even a bit weepy. But then he brings a small hand to swipe at his eyes once and when Daichi can see them again, they are no longer red-rimmed, but bright with happiness.

“Okay, Daichi,” Koushi says slowly and carefully through a burgeoning grin. “I’ll always come back.”

 

…

 

“Um,” Daichi says and falters, uncharacteristically, suddenly, strangely. Koushi pauses, half a step ahead of him, turning back to look at him. “You’re okay with dogs, right?”

“I love dogs,” Koushi replies, eyes bright. “You have one?”

“Yeah.” Daichi, while still the slightest bit hesitant, grins in that pleased, proud manner of his. “But she’s, uh, big. My mother says it’s polite to ask people…”

Koushi ignores the stutter in their friendship as easily as he ignores any stutters in his own young life. “Well, I still love dogs! Even if they’re big.” A big dog is twice as exciting, probably; the only dogs Koushi has really interacted with were a couple of small-ish ones at a local park, and his uncle’s ancient pomeranian.

Not that he dislikes Daichi, but he’s kind of _more_ excited about the prospect of hanging out at his house, now.

Daichi’s house is large, traditional, and open; it seems full of light and life and color. There are photographs lining the wall from the entryway where they shout greetings and yank off their shoes, and Koushi snickers at Daichi’s baby pictures before he’s dragged through hallways and into the back yard.

Daichi is immediately bowled over by an _incredibly_ fluffy, brown dog.

Koushi yips and backs up, not quite startled but a little more than surprised. The dog isn’t a huge monster like he’d been expecting, but it’s certainly bulky, settling weight happily onto Daichi as it licks and snuffles at his face, immune to his laughter and flailing.

Daichi, still giggling and cheeks red and slobber-covered, peers up at Koushi pleadingly. Koushi has pity on him and extends a hand down, helping pull him up and out from the furry threat. “This is Rin! Rin, this is Kou—Suga.”

Koushi gives Daichi a particularly pitying look as he crouches down to let the dog sniff at him. Rin hardly waits before lapping excitedly at his hands and aiming for his face. “The dog can call me Koushi, too! Silly.”

“You tell _everyone_ else to call you that! Even Yui!” Daichi huffs defensively.

“It’s cute!” Koushi maintains. Rin manages to get a paw up on his knee, and Koushi ends up on his butt, covered in very happy dog kisses. “And so’s Rin!”

“She likes you,” Daichi proudly declares.

“Good.” Koushi hasn’t actually had many animals who have _liked_ him before, and certainly none so friendly. Daichi’s an idiot if they think they’re ever _not_ hanging out at his place anymore. Koushi is 100% convinced he Loves this dog. Adores, even. “She’s not that big, but she’s nice. Do you brush her fur a lot? Can I?”

“She loves brushes—you’re gonna become the favorite soon if you spoil her right off the bat.” Daichi folds his arms, looking stern, not that it bothers either Koushi or Rin. “Also, she is too big! Well, she’ll get bigger…?”

“Why’s that a question?”

“I only got her for my birthday. She’s still a puppy.”

Koushi looks down at the sizeable dog taking up the entirety of his lap and then some. He tries, very hard, to imagine her _bigger_.

“I love your dog,” he announces solemnly. “And I want her to be the size of a horse.”

“You don’t have to share a bed with her!” Daichi retorts. Rin barks at the volume, and only then does Koushi hear the telltale high pitch of a _puppy_.

“I will tonight! Can I spend the night? I’ll share a futon with her and you’ll be _sooo_ jealous!”

“Get your own dog!”

“I just did!” With a gigantic heave and an equally loud grunt, Koushi hefts Rin in his arms. He staggers, after just a moment, and Daichi catches them both before they topple over and Koushi gets squashed flat like a pancake.

Rin happily turns back and forth to lick at both their faces as they laugh together.

 

…

 

The small red-door house at the top of the hill, three blocks, one turn and fourteen steps up from Daichi’s own, has always been something of an anomaly.

Before today Daichi’s sock clad feet have only ever stepped from the entryway, down the narrow hall and into the tiny square bedroom, first door on the right.

Of all the countless times he’s entered this house Daichi has never once strayed from this path, never needed to explore further, never even thought to ask because Koushi was already quiet enough about his home life as it was and Daichi was nothing if not an adamantly polite child (his mother had seen extensively to that).

So as Daichi walks across the threshold this time, toeing off his shoes, his greeting comes out mumbled and nervous. It’s well past how late he usually finds himself visiting Koushi (his grumbling stomach proves that much) and he’s kept his uniform jacket on in lieu of stuffing it in his bag as per usual.

But Koushi’s hand clutches at his wrist to pull him in further past some very traditional looking shoji screens and into a kitchen warm with meat and spices and jasmine rice. Daichi’s shoulders melt a little at the comforting familiarity of it all and he even greets the man leaning against the counter (apron and all) with a small, genuine smile.

The man’s eyes are Koushi’s own, in shade and enthusiasm.

On instinct, Daichi’s back folds and he bows his head, “Thank you for having me, Sugawara-san.”

The words leave his mouth a bit of a jumbled mess and Daichi thinks for a second that he hears a snort of amusement from somewhere next to him. He lets his gaze rise first before slowly straightening and meeting Sugawara-san’s eyes again, even warmer and wider than seconds before.

“So you’re the boy who’s been helping Kou-chan with his schoolwork?” he hums, his voice softer than Daichi had expected. “It’s good to meet you, Sawamura-kun.”

At the affectionate nickname Daichi watches Koushi’s ears go rosy, but he’s not the only one feeling a bit flustered by his father’s words, Daichi’s own cheeks burning warmer than usual.

He brings a habitual finger up to scratch at his cheek. “It’s nothing,” he says, trying unsuccessfully not to sound bashful. “Koushi helps me a lot too. I’m not very good at math.”

Sugawara-san nods, expression unchanging. “I’m glad Kou-chan has found such a friend—”

“What’s for dinner?” interrupts a quick voice from beside Daichi. Koushi looks, for all that his modest clothes will allow, like a cooked shrimp—pinker than Daichi’s ever seen him before. The shade is actually kind of cute.

Without thinking he lets out a chuckle and receives a sidelong scowl for his trouble. But Daichi knows for certain that if this situation were reversed Koushi ( _Kou-chan_ ) would be doubled-over with laughter by now. And not just laughter, but those high-pitched, untamable giggles that tend to tickle Daichi’s eardrums.

Sugawara-san doesn’t seem all that surprised by his son’s actions and instead of scolding the minor rudeness fits them both with a soft, barely there smile. “Curry,” he answers with a nod towards the pot steaming on the stovetop.

At that Koushi absolutely beams, all previous embarrassment washing away to be replaced with utter delight as he shouts, “Extra hot!?” and then turns to Daichi, nearly blinding him, “Do you like extra spicy, Daichi?”

Daichi is not too sure of the appropriate answer here. On the one hand, for all of Koushi’s immense enthusiasm in the ‘extra spicy’ category Daichi wants to nod his head and emphatically agree till the sun goes down. But on the other hand…

“You can add extra chili to yours,” Sugawara-san breaks in, fitting Daichi with an oddly apologetic look. “I’m not so sure Sawamura-kun is ready to take on your level of spicy just yet, Koushi.”

After realizing Koushi isn’t going to break down into tears (or something equally disarming) just based on the fact that Daichi is not (nor has he ever been) an ‘extra spicy’ type of person he nods his head and shoots Sugawara-san a grateful look through his lashes, starting to feel that bashfulness from earlier creeping back in.

Over dinner Koushi’s father asks Daichi about his own family and about school and when they land on the topic of volleyball the conversation really starts to pick up. It seems he’d played a bit in high school, having met Koushi’s mother when she’d been the team manager. At this story Koushi turns more red than pink and proceeds to make faces at his father from across the table until Daichi can’t quite hold in his amusement.

For a hesitant second Daichi thinks to ask about her—Koushi’s mother—but stops himself when he catches a funny, faraway look in Sugawara-san’s eyes. That mistiness, Daichi realizes, is the one difference between the two sets of hazel sitting on either side of him.

So he doesn’t ask. But on his way out later that evening, after a few rounds of Mario Kart, Koushi shows him a picture hung in the hallway. In it sits three people: Sugawara-san, Koushi approximately age one, and a woman Daichi’s never met before.

“Dad says I get my everything from her,” Koushi explains with his chest puffed proudly.

Daichi, following Koushi’s outstretched finger to study the woman once more, is inclined to agree with him. Creamy complexion, silver-blond hair, and even the tiny beauty mark dotting their respective cheeks.

Everything, he thinks, except for the eyes.

 

…

 

Koushi is unexpectedly quiet, he knows. He thinks Daichi is probably getting suspicious by this point. He had been the one to request this sleepover, and while that isn’t terribly rare between them since Koushi remains desperately in love with Rin despite her increasing size, he’s sure his fidgeting is giving himself away. Koushi, while living a secret, doesn’t keep them particularly well.

And, well, Daichi is his friend. His very good friend. His very good friend that he hangs out with almost daily and shares classes and homework and study sessions with, and walks home together with, and plays any manner of games with, and—

Sawamura Daichi is probably his _best_ friend.

The concept is familiar to Koushi from a technical standpoint. He knows about best friends from books and movies and video games; he somehow hadn’t actually thought _he’d_ ever get one. It makes his stomach churn over in nerves just thinking about it. That seems like an awful lot of responsibility for one person, and worse, what if _he’s_ not Daichi’s best friend? Then it’s a one-way street and that makes Koushi all the more nervous.

“I think even Rin is getting tired of brushing,” Daichi says, making Koushi jump. The fluffy dog seated between his legs gives him a particularly doleful look over her shoulder. Koushi pauses over her long, thick fur, then slowly sets the brush down. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Are you going to tell me what’s up?”

Daichi unassumingly sits down beside Koushi, and Koushi leans down until he can embrace Rin, burrowing his face in her fur so he doesn’t have to look at the boy beside him.

“Are you feeling sick again?”

Koushi shakes his head against Rin. She _wuffs_ softly, then wriggles in his grasp until she can turn to lick his cheeks, like she always does. And he lets her, like he always does, despite the way Daichi makes faces at all of the slobber.

“Are you okay?” Daichi asks, voice going soft, and Koushi’s grip tightens on Rin.

Daichi has definitely noticed his disappearances. Alright, most everyone in their year has noticed that, and he’s heard some of the rumors that have sprung up. (He hopes Daichi hasn’t, even if he knows that’s impossible.) Daichi worries about him, and Koushi thinks it’s unfair to keep it from him. Not when this little bubble of happiness is stubbornly sticking around. The happiness that Daichi threatens him with.

“Are we best friends?” Koushi asks before he can stop himself. He peers up at Daichi through Rin’s dark fur, squinting at him, suspicious and bracing himself for the answer.

“I thought so?” Daichi replies, fast and totally sincere, like this was the easiest thing in the world and Koushi _hadn’t_ been agonizing over it for the past several months. “We are, aren’t we?” Daichi rephrases, suddenly hesitant, _bashful_.

“Yes! We are! I-I mean, I want to be…” Movies definitely didn’t prepare him for how awkward it’d be.

But Daichi relaxes into a smile, the one that shows off the hint of the dimple on his chin, and that makes Suga smile in return.

 _We’re best friends_ , Suga thinks, and a warm contentment blankets him at the thought.

Fear rushes in after, as it always does when he thinks he’s a little _too_ happy, and it’s like a rush of vertigo. Koushi is nearly dizzy with it, and he holds onto Rin for support, eyes squeezed shut.

 _I’m still here_.

“Is _that_ what you were worrying about? Jeez, I thought it was something serious,” Daichi scoffs, joking and light, purposefully breaking the mood. “Like, you were moving away, or you were really sick, or you were going to miss school for another week.”

Koushi pouts into Rin’s ruff. “I keep up on my studies, at least,” he points out. More than once he’s had to help Daichi with last-minute, panicked study sessions. “But… no, that’s not what I was freaking out about.”

“Oh, so you _do_ admit it.”

“I’m allowed to be a little freaked out about this!”

“And what is ‘this’?” Daichi challenges. Koushi meets his gaze without fear, pulling away from Rin enough to meet his eye, and Koushi knows this is _it_.

“I have something to tell you,” he says, voice admirably level. Daichi will be the first person he ever tells, and that sends a thrill through him, too.

It’s not quite joy, at least.


	2. i can't explain the state that i’m in, the state of my heart, he was my best friend

Koushi gets back just before the weekend, looking drawn and exhausted.

Daichi isn’t certain _what_ about the image creates the realization; he just knows that once he’s thought of it, he _knows_ it to be true. It probably should have been obvious. Hell, it _had_ been obvious, horribly obvious, in hindsight. But Koushi hadn’t specifically mentioned it being connected, not during their talk so many years ago or in any time since then.

His disappearances have been getting steadily less and less frequent, but still noticeable, and still irregular. Daichi kicks himself for not making the connection sooner.

Daichi drags him out behind the gym before they go in for practice. The warmth of the season means the doors are still wide open, and he can hear the squeak of sneakers and the slam of balls from inside. “Is this another side-effect? Of the magicky thing?” he demands, a little harsher than intended.

Koushi does not flinch, but a little sharpness comes back into his drowsy expression. “The… _magicky thing_.”

“Yeah. The…”

“Me. You mean me,” Koushi corrects.

“I always thought you were sick,” Daichi says, softly. He wants to reach out, to brush back some of Koushi’s fluffy, unruly hair, maybe tuck it behind his ear. The thought startles him—and embarrasses him for reasons he doesn’t want to contemplate. “I never put two and two together, I guess.”

“Sometimes, I _am_ sick,” Koushi volunteers like a consolation prize. Daichi snorts back a weak laugh. “When I get back, I feel pretty awful. Half the time I’m stuck in bed for another day or two. I swear I don’t disappear for as long as it seems!”

“You look worse this time,” Daichi points out. Koushi gives him a flat, almost annoyed look. “I mean… are you okay? Did you skip the rest period or something?”

“I can’t miss _that_ much school—”

“And you’re coming to _practice_?”

“It’s not like I have the flu,” Koushi says, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Daichi, we’re already going to be late. Like the upperclassmen need another reason to make fun. Poor Azumane, he’ll probably be shaking in his sneakers if we leave him alone!”

“Azumane can deal for a single day. You’re going home and getting some proper rest,” Daichi says sternly.

“Is that an order?” Koushi asks mildly in return.

“Yes.”

Most shocking of all, he does not argue. He gives a little shrug, backs out of Daichi’s personal space—when had they gotten so close—and Daichi feels oddly unbalanced, headed to club practice by himself.

Koushi has been in his life long enough, brightly and warmly and importantly enough, that missing him like this knocks Daichi off kilter. Which is weird, since he disappears for days at a time at random, half of them apparently sick days. It’s not as if he’s never been to practice without him, that’s for sure.

But _knowing_ Koushi is home, alone, and tired, and sick, it makes Daichi’s skin crawl.

Without knowing precisely why, he stops by the Sugawara residence after practice is over, despite the lateness and the lack of valid excuse. He didn’t bring homework (Koushi has it already), they don’t need to study right now (even if Koushi generally is a little better about _not_ cramming it all in right before tests), and he didn’t even think to grab a drink or something before arriving (even if a sports drink might’ve helped him regain a little bit of color).

Still, Daichi knocks.

Koushi lets him in, smiling warmly, not questioning his presence. The bags under his eyes are still pronounced, but his hair is ruffled like he just got out of bed to answer the door. Daichi eyes the way his sleep clothes hang on his frame, a little too large on him, the collar of his silly shrimp shirt just wide enough to reveal the dip of his collarbone.

Daichi swallows, and offers to make tea for them both.

“I like it when you take care of me,” Koushi teases, and Daichi knows his face traitorously heats up.

“Don’t be afraid of asking for it from time to time. Especially if you feel crappy after returning from… wherever.”

“Wherever,” Koushi thoughtfully echoes. He doesn’t bother to correct Daichi, but, still smiling, seats himself at the dining table to wait for the tea. The blanket he’d grabbed from his bed is still wrapped halfway around his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. It’s kind of nice to be welcomed back.”

Steaming mugs in hand, Daichi turns to set them down in front of Koushi, before taking the spot next to him. “Then welcome home.”

“I’m home. …Thanks, Daichi, even if that was cheesy as hell.”

“Hey! You literally asked for it.”

“And you indulged me!”

“Maybe you deserve to be indulged once in a _long_ while.”

Koushi hums happily in agreement and sips at his tea. Daichi isn’t sure if it’s color returning to his pale face or if the flush there is from something else, however.

 

…

 

Koushi realizes he’s fucked all at once, after a specific moment in time: he traces the path of a bead of sweat down the side of Daichi’s neck with his eyes, and then when Daichi strips off his shirt and the sweat is inadvertently wiped away and Koushi is left staring at the strong back of his best friend, for a moment too long, he realizes.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, like it’s no big deal. Oh, I forgot to pick up soy sauce for dad. Oh, I need to study tonight. Oh, that dog is just adorable. Oh, I’m in love with my best friend.

He doesn’t think too hard about what this means for his sexuality. Koushi hasn’t much cared about things like that; he’d thought romance would be completely off the table for himself, after all. This hadn’t exactly been planned. Romance is fine—great!—to read about in novels and manga, but it had always left a particular type of squeamishness in him when he thought too hard about his parents.

He hadn’t actively avoided it, and maybe he should have. Maybe then Koushi wouldn’t be stuck gaping at Daichi’s back, face gradually reddening, unable to form higher thoughts past that _oh_.

Koushi has teased Daichi about growing up into a ‘handsome, fine lad’ after the old lady at the convenience store had called him that once. Maybe he’d teased him a little too much. Maybe this is karmic retribution, because Daichi _is_ handsome, getting more handsome with every passing week it feels like. Koushi has watched him truly starting to gain noticeable muscle mass, filling out whereas Koushi is stuck stubbornly fighting to even gain weight, but he’d never felt jealous about it.

He realizes, in hindsight, he’d already been appreciative of his best friend’s looks.

He probably shouldn’t be thinking of Daichi in those terms anymore. Koushi feels like he’s already betrayed their friendship, by having these thoughts, even if they’re fleeting and both overwhelmingly earth-shattering and completely mundane.

Oh, he wants to kiss Daichi. Oh, he should probably practice his serves more.

Koushi hangs onto this terrifying secret and squashes it down within himself to try to head off the inevitable. He’s getting better about the happiness thing, but he’s _not_ going to tempt fate. Crushes seem like they’d lead to a bad end.

But then, he begins to notice the way Daichi looks at him in turn. Koushi recognizes those lingering glances, especially when Daichi thinks he won’t notice. The butterflies in his stomach almost make him nauseous.

But _oh_ , how he wants.

What a way to go.

Koushi is almost giddy with the thought, in the same way people get light-headed when they look down over a sheer drop. He wants to, wants to think about this not in terms of a betrayal of friendship, but as another step forward. He’d never thought he’d earn a best friend, after all, and look at them now. Spending so much time together the upperclassmen tease them and Koushi develops a crush. (Maybe Daichi does, too.)

Somehow, he doesn’t think to be afraid of Valentine’s Day until Daichi pulls him aside before class, down to a quieter section of hallway, clear of other students.

“I know this is a little cliche,” Daichi begins, and Koushi stares blankly back at him, “but I figured it was a good excuse to actually say something. And I really hope this isn’t completely off base, but I kind of hoped… No, let me start over.”

 _Oh._ “You’re not a girl,” Koushi forces out in a squeak.

“Neither are you, so somebody’s got to do it,” Daichi deadpans. “And it’d be more awkward if I said something on White Day, wouldn’t it?”

“It’d be less awkward if I could be eating chocolates while my face combusts.”

Daichi sighs, mouth twitching as he tries hard to restrain his smile, and passes over a little box of store-bought chocolates. Koushi takes it, gripping it hard in both hands, and makes no move to open it. It’s grounding to have something to hold onto, at least; Daichi, without meaning to, seems to crowd into his space, and while Koushi still has the tiniest bit of height on him, Daichi’s looming presence is _too close_ to totally resist the temptation to grab onto.

“So… Since you’re not running away or interrupting me to let me down kindly,” Daichi says, scuffling his slipper on the floor, “I’m just going to—S-Sugawara Koushi, I like you. As more than just my friend. I think you’re handsome, smart, gentle, and determined, and I admire you a lot, and I’d like it if we could go out.”

As straightforward as Koushi would expect of him. His entire being feels wobbly and he hopes he’s smiling. He kind of feels like it, but the butterflies in his stomach still churn, as if in indignation at allowing this sliver of hope to be proven _true_.

“Oh,” Koushi breathes, and relaxes his iron grip on the chocolate box in order to throw his arms around Daichi’s neck.

(Neither of them actually notice until later that Koushi hadn’t properly accepted Daichi’s feelings, but they both think it obvious enough.)

 

…

 

It’s just dinner and a movie. They eat together all the time—lunch at school, pork buns after practice, dinner at each other’s houses at least weekly. They’ve hung around and watched movies together, in a pile together more often than not, both alone and with other friends, in theaters and in someone’s room. There’s nothing about this they _haven’t_ done.

But it’s different, now.

Now, neither feel guilty for the occasional way their fingers will link, or if either of them rests their head a little too long against the other’s shoulder. In the few times they’ve been alone together ever since the confession (and belated acceptance), Daichi has detected a tension that hadn’t been there before. He’s caught himself studying the way Koushi’s eyes will rove over the couch, the bed, whatever Daichi’s sprawled against, mentally calculating positioning and proximity.

He’s overthinking things, as usual, but Daichi can hardly fault him when he does the same thing. How he sometimes daydreams about running his fingers through Koushi’s fluffy hair, pale as starlight, or cupping his face as he brings them together for a kiss. He wonders what it’d be like. (Daichi’s only experience with kissing so far is a terrifying game of truth or dare the year before; an upperclassman had been dared to kiss him, because he’d been blushing the hardest at the time.)

He hopes he doesn’t turn that red again, although he thinks he might whenever he thinks about taking this next step.

 _It’s stupid_ , he scolds himself. He shouldn’t be losing his composure over something so innocent.

(Daichi _firmly_ ignores his less-than-innocent thoughts that come to him late at night, alone in his bed, not quite able to fall asleep.)

Somehow, Koushi pushes past his own nerves and is the one to ask Daichi out on their first official date together. Daichi nods and goes along with whatever he recommends, which turns out to be dinner and a movie. Simple. Cliche. Safe.

Their first date gets waylaid by one of Koushi’s disappearances. He’s gone for only a day and a half, and finds Daichi straightaway when he gets back, disheveled and pale. “I’m so sorry! I’m so—I didn’t mean to, I’m _so_ sorry, Daichi!”

It’s seven in the morning on a Sunday, so Daichi may be a little slow, but there’s nothing hesitant about how he pulls Koushi inside and into his arms. “It’s okay, I know it was—” he doesn’t like the word accident, and he never really found any proper term for where Koushi goes or what he does, “—it wasn’t your fault. I’m not mad,” he adds with a drowsy chuckle.

Koushi is warm in his arms, solid and _present_ in this realm once more. That’s all Daichi wants.

Their second attempt finds them both dressed in nice clothes, sweating it out as they both try not to look at each other too much or worry about how clammy their hands are. They’d elected not to fumble through anything too fancy, so they go to a ramen bar the team had been to a few times before, and the familiarity is almost comforting if Daichi doesn’t think too hard about how good Koushi looks or how they’re here _together_ -together.

He doesn’t think people stare, but the back of his neck prickles, anyway.

Koushi insists on seeing some action/horror monstrosity, and Daichi, so used to his terrible taste in movies already, agrees. The movie had been out long enough that the theater isn’t packed, but there are more than a few couples and groups of people there, so he doesn’t feel quite so nervous at being alone with Koushi in a dark theater.

Still, Koushi drags him to the back row, flips the armrest between them up and out of the way, and gives Daichi a wide, confident smirk. His eyes glint silver in the light from the screen. Daichi gulps.

They sit pressed together, thighs and shoulders touching, and while Daichi agonizes over thinking about putting his arm over Koushi’s shoulders—how should he play that, how casual is the movement supposed to be, what if Koushi laughs at how obvious he is—he misses his chance. With an obviously fake yawn, Koushi stretches, then settles his arm back around Daichi’s shoulder, pulling them even closer together.

When Daichi huffs and catches his eye, Koushi has the nerve to wink.

He’s not sure why he’s so nervous about this when, first and foremost, he’s still dealing with _Koushi_. Of course it’d be that easy, and of course he’d make the first move, with his usual cheekiness. Just to get back at him, Daichi grabs his other hand, pulls it up to his mouth, and presses a kiss on his knuckles.

Koushi’s blush is deep enough that Daichi can make it out even in the dim light.

By the time they leave the theater, it’s dark out and Daichi is fairly certain he’s going to have nightmares about terribly designed monsters. The gore had been enough to make him squirm a couple times; he hadn’t needed to see anyone beheaded, thank you very much. And while he’s not the scaredy cat Koushi accuses him of being, they’d been pressed together so tight for most of the movie that he’d been able to feel every time he’d jolted.

Daichi walks him home, fingers intertwined once more, and neither of them speak much. The tension is there, stronger than ever, and neither can ignore it. Daichi lingers on Koushi’s doorstep, and Koushi lets him, face open with expectation.

He’s not sure who leans in first, but Koushi certainly is the one who pulls him in with his hands on Daichi’s shirt collar, and then they’re kissing. Koushi feels just as soft and warm against him as he’d imagined—everything is just as he imagined, except better, more solid, wonderfully _real_. He, Sawamura Daichi, gets the supreme honor of kissing one Sugawara Koushi. He couldn’t be happier.

When Daichi pulls away, lips parting to suck in a breath, eyes reopening, he finds Koushi’s own eyes glistening. “It’s fine,” he says at once, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm, cutting off Daichi’s concern.

Daichi cups his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and brings their foreheads together. “Tell me why you’re crying?” he gently asks.

“I’m not crying!” Koushi scolds with a solid _thwack_ against Daichi’s chest. He tries not to wheeze. Koushi smooths his hands over him again, as if in apology, and relents, “I’m just really happy. _Really_ happy.”

“Oh,” Daichi mumbles, unsure of what else to say. “Uh, me too.”

Koushi chuckles and presses another quick kiss against his mouth. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Next time, I won’t make you cry.”

Koushi laughs again, full and bright and warm. “You promise?”

“Absolutely,” Daichi vows with all the conviction in him.

“It’s a date, then!”

 

…

 

“So, Sawamura will be your new captain?” Hiroki asks. While Daichi seems sheepish, he meets the captain’s eyes fearlessly. Koushi and Asahi share a knowing grin behind Daichi’s back. That’s the kind of thing they insisted Daichi be captain for. “Fair enough. Have a vice yet?”

“Suga,” Daichi replies immediately.

Koushi jolts in surprise, and Asahi laughs behind his hand. “Wh-What? _Me_?”

“Seems fine. I know you three will keep the team going and wrangle those rowdy kids,” Hiroki replies, ignoring Koushi’s surprise with the shadow of a smirk.

Koushi waits until the third-year is gone, for politeness’ sake, before rounding on Daichi. “What do you mean I’m your vice?” he demands. He gives Asahi a particularly pointed look, and Asahi looks away with another, more nervous, chuckle. “Shouldn’t the obvious pick be our new ace? Maybe if he had a little more responsibility he wouldn’t quail at every other thing.”

“I-I expect that kind of talk from Daichi, not from you…”

“Koushi,” Daichi says, and Koushi softens despite himself, “you know you’ve kept the team together. You’re great with the first-years, and unless we get a new one, you’ll be our only setter next year until we train someone up. You deserve this.”

“And,” Asahi volunteers, “you two work really, really well together. I’ve seen how you two strategize, even during breaks, and even Nishinoya and Tanaka listen to you.”

“They listen to me,” Daichi mutters darkly.

“You’re a good pair. You’ll be good for the team.”

“You just didn’t want to deal with the pressure,” Koushi teases, and Asahi doesn’t dispute it. “Okay, _fine_ , I accept. Even though some warning would’ve been nice. I guess I can respect your wishes for a matched set—captain, vice captain, and ace.”

The three eagerly imagine it: bringing Karasuno back to its former glory, heading back to nationals, making a proper mark on history again. It’s appealing and something to strive for.

But something in the way Asahi had called them _a good pair_ sticks in Koushi’s mind. He accepts the title of vice captain with no further argument, quite pleased actually to be deemed important enough to given it (especially with the next tournament looming, even without a spot as a regular, perhaps the lack of third-years will give him a proper opportunity to prove himself). He’ll even accept Asahi rolling over and not letting himself be considered.

But. _A good pair_.

“Does Asahi know about us?” Koushi asks one late night, sprawled across Daichi’s bed with Rin, no studying getting done.

“Us?” Daichi replies, distracted.

“You know.” Koushi prods his back with his foot. “ _Us_.”

Daichi finally looks up, brow furrowed in concentration. “Oh. I… don’t know? I haven’t told him, and I guess you haven’t?”

“Nope. I’ve never thought about telling people.” Koushi doesn’t fear judgment or any sort of backlash, not from Asahi or really anyone else. But he isn’t sure Daichi is as fearless as he is in this. “Would you… want to?”

They’ll be the only three third-years next year. They’ll be the backbone of the team, a solid, united front for the rest of the team to rely on. They’ll have to be on the same page. It’d be awkward at best if they danced around keeping such a big (obvious?) secret from him, and bad for the team at worst.

“You want to tell him,” Daichi says, at the same time that Koushi realizes he’s probably talked himself into it.

When they take Asahi aside after practice the next day, he just smiles at them, sets a large hand on each of their shoulders, and replies, “I, um, kind of figured. I’m happy for you both! Uh, thank you for telling me… I kind of had it figured out last year, though.”

“Are we obvious about it?” Daichi asks, stricken.

“We weren’t _together_ last year,” Koushi whispers, just as embarrassed.

The three of them are left red-faced, unable to look each other in the eye, and awkward.

What a team they make.

 

…

 

Koushi eyes the ouija board sitting on the kotatsu warily.

He wonders where exactly it came from, who brought it and why. It definitely doesn’t belong to Daichi, which he knows for a fact, and it feels particularly out of place sitting there on the empty tabletop, staring up at him as though it had appeared out of thin air.

The board gives off a definite _vibe_ , he thinks, and imaginary or not this could definitely be something interesting. But still he can’t help but feel some nerves about the idea worming its way through his mind, stomach fluttering. Or maybe it’s a symptom of Daichi’s own stare at the side of his face, just as wary as the one Koushi’s giving the board. Either way.

In a fit of rebellious impulsivity Koushi plops down at the table’s corner and hovers his fingers over the heart-shaped planchette, miming the actions needed to make use of the device.

“We should conduct a séance,” he says definitively, stopping any and all other pockets of conversation echoing through the Sawamura household dead.

“Suga, no,” is Daichi’s immediate response and the intense concern bedded in his dark eyes is both amusing, but also endearing in a way that makes Koushi feel warm and loved but not quite as warm and loved as when Noya jumps in (literally) with a screeched, “Suga, yes!” that forces any of Daichi’s next protests to die on his tongue.

For a second Koushi feels badly watching Daichi’s lips close in a thin purse, but he’s pretty confident in the argument that Daichi brought this on himself really, if he’d thought having the entire volleyball club over to his house on Halloween wouldn’t inspire some sort of ghoulish mischief.

“What’s a séance?” Hinata’s eyes are wide with curiosity as he fumbles his way out of his seat (squished a little _too_ close) next to Kageyama and plops down on the floor across from Koushi.

“A séance,” Koushi explains primly (definitely ignoring Daichi’s little scowl), “is a communion with spirits from the other side.”

This statement invariably sets about a chain reaction of Karasuno style proportions.

First off, Asahi is suddenly nowhere to be found but the way Daichi is rolling his eyes at the space behind the couch is pretty informative. Oddly enough Tsukishima has managed to perk up a bit, expression still impassive, but there’s a little glow behind his glasses not unlike the glow Yamaguchi gives off anytime (including now) he’s observing his taller counterpart. Tanaka has set to making the most horrendous, apparently ghost-like noises as he traipses around the room before finding a spot to plop down practically in Ennoshita’s lap (not without a repercussive smack to the head from the latter). Kinoshita and Narita busy themselves with tugging Noya down from his wobbly stance on a couch cushion, inadvertently bringing a growly Kageyama to the ground with him in a mass of tangled limbs.

Koushi finds Daichi’s disapproving (but slowly softening) expression across the chaos and bites back a chuckle before clapping his hands loudly and addressing the room. “Everyone must clear their minds of all negative thoughts,” he says, throwing a sharp, knowing glance towards the couch. “You too, Asahi!”

He ignores the squeak of protest and takes a deep breath before continuing. “The key to a successful séance is being respectful and serious at all times.” (This part is probably something of a pipe dream, but he figures they can at least try.)

“Suga-san, are you a witch?” Yamaguchi whispers out of the corner of his mouth, wide-eyed and entirely sincere, though the question only seems to earn him a soft “Shut up, Yamaguchi,” from the blond next to him.

Koushi ignores the minor interruption in favor of waving his fingers towards Daichi in a beckoning manner. “Come on, I need a second body to use the planchette properly.”

Daichi looks nervous, most likely for more than one reason, but moves to sit on his knees near enough to Koushi that they can both place their fingers atop the heart-like piece of wood.

If Daichi was unsure about ‘magicky’ things before…

“Negative energies are not welcome here,” Koushi starts, biting his tongue and sounding far more practiced than he actually is. “We will only commune with good spirits. Anything malevolent is _not_ welcome.”

From the edge of his vision he can see the faces sitting around the kotatsu altering from amusement to something much more calm and curious, even a little wary. He grins softly to himself, careful not to disturb whatever aura he’s managed to paint the room with, and says, “Are there any spirits here who wish to speak to us?”

It takes a few quick beats of his heart, but Koushi can almost instantly feel a familiar energy and it is both comforting and horrifying all at once. In the category of things Koushi believes in, a Ouija board is certainly not one of them and he knows Daichi would _never_ play such a trick on him (all things considered) so how in the hell are their fingers starting to move?

He tries to meet Daichi’s gaze, but the other is intent on staring, wide-eyed, as the planchette slowly but surely starts to inch its way towards one word.

 _Yes_.

“ _Koushi_ —” Daichi starts with a hiss, but the other hushes him insistently. Koushi is not exactly certain of what to do. The wooden piece comes to hover over the affirmation and he opens his mouth ready with another question or perhaps just a firm _goodbye,_ but then the overhead lights flicker off and the entire room is plunged into darkness.

There is a single moment filled with startled howls and yells and someone bumps into the table sending the planchette sliding off course and Koushi feels his heart fill with a very real terror until familiar hands grip his wrists and a calm, feminine voice echoes down the stairwell.

“Sorry, sorry! I hit the wrong light switch,” Daichi’s mother calls just as the lights flick back on to reveal the entire lot of their team wide-eyed and blinking at Koushi owlishly.

Daichi’s still got a hold of him, but he’s frowning something fierce down at the Ouija board, the word _goodbye_ thankfully magnified through the glass piece set into the planchette.

“No more séances,” Daichi announces firmly and even though he can feel a bit of relieved laughter bubbling up in his throat, Koushi can’t help but agree.

 

…

 

The Friday night sleepover has grown into something of a well-worn tradition. It is steeped in nostalgia and junk food, the occasional last bits of homework and old Sega Genesis tournaments and cuddles with Rin atop Daichi’s too-small bed. But perhaps most memorable (weather permitting) is the star-gazing.

By the time they are both hedging on eighteen the star-gazing portion has changed considerably into something filled with a little less astronomy (though the intricate debates on other galaxies still wages on with fervor) and a little more soft-spoken words and lingering kisses.

They’ve had _a lot_ of practice since their first time and these days their kisses are usually accompanied by a lot more heavy petting and way fewer tears.

But on some occasions Koushi will pull away for a heartbeat just to ground himself, to check, to be sure. Daichi always watches him carefully, but does not seek any further explanation and that’s one of the many ongoing reasons Koushi finds himself having to pull back in the first place.

Tonight he does not find himself especially anxious or exceptionally happy, though definitely contented and warm next to Daichi. It is a perfect balance and yet he still can’t seem to get himself to relax. Something has been eating away at it him lately, something big and important and actually a little scary, but he can’t seem to find the right words to voice it with.

It’s a familiar feeling; déjà vu.

“You seem tense,” Daichi says, rubbing a hand over Koushi’s arm and up across his shoulder. They’re lying on their sides, respectively, the stars above them and a blanket beneath them and not much in between.

Koushi hums, eyes averting to Daichi’s chest. It is dark, but there a few slivers of light filtering from the kitchen window above them and some bluish shadows that dip and hide in the planes of muscles beneath Daichi’s shirt.

“I guess I’ve been a little stressed lately what with graduation and all,” Koushi answers, momentarily breaking his distraction. There’s something else, something unspoken lingering on Koushi’s lips but Daichi, like usual, doesn’t press him further.

He’s gotten to be a pretty good judge of Sugawara Koushi over the years, so asking probably doesn’t much matter anyways.

They linger under the stars together for quite some time and after much insisting Daichi manages to rub and kiss some of the pent-up stress from Koushi’s muscles.

“It’s just that—well I—” Koushi breaks the silence first, but his voice is unsure and the words broken and staggered. “Daichi. I-I think that I—”

Sugawara Koushi at a loss for words is not really something that either have had much experience with, but Daichi handles it like he handles everything—with a grounding, easy firmness.

His hands fit perfectly against Koushi’s jaw and up over his cheeks and with Daichi holding him like this he’s got nowhere else to look except at the tiny reflections in those comforting, dark brown eyes.

“I know, Koushi,” he says softly, matter-of-fact. “You don’t have to say anything. I know.”

Koushi feels tears (of perhaps relief this time) but he swallows them away in favor of one more kiss.

 

…

 

Later, when Daichi wakes up and finds the futon on the floor next to him empty, it is not as scary or confusing or panic-inducing as it had been when they were younger and smaller and more naïve. It still brings a sadness to Daichi’s chest, something constricting and a bit painful, but he knows that the sensation will only linger for a day or two.

And by then, like always, the boy he’d fallen in love with would probably be back.


	3. dear one, absent this long while

“Well, why do _you_ want to be a history teacher?” Koushi shoots back around the pen in his mouth.

“I just—want to teach?”

“And I want to sew people up.”

“Koushi, Asahi is _still_ convinced you’re joking and we’ve swapped majors. I mean—being a doctor is great, it really is, and I’m glad you want to help people. But I know that’s not _just_ it, and I’d appreciate it if you were honest with me right now.”

Koushi can’t say no to Daichi when he frames it like that. He absolutely knows that Daichi does not mean it pointedly or even in a leading way; Daichi is a person built of earnestness and sincerity, and Koushi tries to give as much back as he can in that regard. Teasing is one thing, this is quite another.

“I want to help people,” Koushi says, like he _always_ says when asked why he wants to become a doctor. Most people accept it at that. “But… I thought about other things, you know. Everyone does. I thought about becoming a teacher, too, or a zookeeper or a vet or a lifeguard. I’m not sure how much school you need to become a lifeguard, but I look good in a speedo and I think it would be interesting to try to get color instead of burning all the time.”

“But,” Daichi prompts, not unkindly.

“But,” Koushi agrees, sighing, “that’s not really the point here. It’s not even… Not really about helping people, either, although I want to do that. I really do.”

“I believe you.”

He sighs again. “Thanks. I just… I wanted something where I could do some good, but where there would be the bad days, too, you know?” He pauses, unable to meet his partner’s eyes, but Daichi does not say anything. Koushi nervously continues, fingers tangling in the sheets, “I want—need—something rough. And I don’t mean that in the same way I usually do.”

The joke falls flat, as expected, but at least he made the effort. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” Daichi asks. Koushi can hear the concern as clear as a bell.

“Yes, Daichi,” he patiently replies. The sheets continue to wrinkle in his grip. “I want something with the bad days to balance out the good. I know there’s a lot more for me in this life, more happiness and high points, and I’m going to make sure I get the most out of this. But I’m not giving anything up. I _want_ to help people.”

Koushi raises his gaze to meet Daichi’s; he sees his own determination mirrored, acceptance and concern and respect softening the edges of Daichi’s eyes. “Alright,” he replies, and it feels like a previously unknown weight has been lifted off of Koushi’s shoulders. He knows he’d do this regardless—he’s already fought his father and two well-meaning teachers on this, and he didn’t want to have to fight Daichi too, but he would.

But of course, Daichi understands. Koushi falls onto him, shamelessly letting him catch his weight, and winds his arms around Daichi as he buries his face in the crook of his neck. “Besides,” Koushi murmurs, “this way we’ll _both_ be called sensei. Think of the fun we can have!”

“I knew it. That’s the real reason.”

“It’s totally not because I can stand blood and guts and want to look amazing in a lab coat.”

“And definitely not because you want to play doctor more.”

“Yes, I planned out my entire career path because of bad innuendos,” Koushi indulgently agrees, nodding against Daichi’s throat. “You know, most people would be _thrilled_ to land a doctor boyfriend.”

“I’m thrilled by everything that you do,” Daichi replies in a perfect deadpan. Koushi laughs anyway.

 

…

 

He’d known from the start that university wasn’t going to be at all like high school, but the late nights, he could do without. Koushi has always been fond of his sleep, sleeping in when possible, once in a long while even napping during lunch. (Sometimes feigning a nap just to rest his head on Daichi’s lap.) But now, he literally cannot remember the last time he went to bed before two.

Okay, so he signed up for this. He wants to be a doctor, after all, and that involves several hellish years of schooling. Daichi is echoing his route with wanting to be a teacher. Neither of them picked the easy road, and that’s more than fine with him—except right now when his pillow is looking _so_ tempting.

He knows if he lays down for even a moment, he’s a goner for the night. Koushi groans, rubs his eyes, and _really_ wishes he had some coffee. College is turning him into an unrepentant caffeine addict.

At least during high school, on stressful nights he could always call Daichi up and go over to his place to bury his face in Rin’s fluff. Now, of course, Daichi is still his stress-eraser, although in admittedly different ways. Even if Koushi still likes to bury his face against his chest.

But now, Daichi is in the same boat, and half the time, it feels like a sinking ship. Koushi doesn’t want to think about how many more years of this he faces, _plus_ residency. It looms like a shadow in his future. No more terrifying than anything else, but another terrifying thing to grin and bear.

Koushi’s phone buzzes against his desk, silenced due to the late hour, and he doesn’t give in to temptation to check it. He’s long since stopped getting surprised at late night texts.

It buzzes again not five minutes later, this time a call, and Koushi squints at it for a few moments before turning it over to check who it is. He can’t lie and say he’s not happily surprised to see Daichi’s name on the screen. “Hello?”

“Let me in?” comes the immediate, breathless request.

“Let you—?” There’s a muffled _thump_ at the front door, loud enough that Koushi can even hear it from his room, and he startles. “Oh, yeah, hold on!”

He double-checks that his roommate’s door is closed—he’s not certain he’s actually home, since he spends a lot of time out and about, which suits Koushi just fine—and tiptoes past anyway. The front door squeaks as Koushi unlocks and pulls it open, revealing his boyfriend, out of breath and carefully juggling a plastic convenience store bag, his messenger bag, and two thermoses of what Koushi desperately hopes is coffee.

Koushi yanks him inside, relieves him of one of the thermoses, and takes two huge gulps only to be happily scalded at what turns out to be, yes, still-hot coffee. Daichi grins as he shrugs off his jacket. “Figured you’d still be up. I have to cram for Kuroki’s test on Friday, so, study date?”

They haven’t seen each other properly in nearly a week now, but Koushi will take this. “Absolutely.”

They sneak past the other bedroom again, and Koushi eases his own door closed once Daichi is making himself comfortable inside. He takes Koushi’s bed, books spread out in front of his crossed legs, idly flipping through flashcards. Koushi returns to his desk and, armed with caffeine, powers through the rest of the chapter.

He calls it a night a little earlier than he might have otherwise, but is happy with his progress all the same. Daichi doesn’t argue and piles his stuff onto the vacated desk, mixing haphazardly with Koushi’s own books and notes. Koushi crawls into bed with him, and Daichi allows him to press his face into the crook of his neck and wrap all his limbs around him in his usual octopus hold as they drift off.

Koushi loves this man, he’s sure. He doesn’t understand how he can make him so happy, and the thought that it’s not the _happiest_ only makes Koushi feel giddier about it. He’s certain that he’ll be with Daichi for as long as fate will let him, and doesn’t dread it if it means he’ll feel like _this_ all the while.

 

…

 

University, Daichi decides three months into their second semester, kind of _sucks_.

His schedule was a bit challenging to adjust to at first, sure. The workload is definitely more than he was used to in high school and overall academically is it just more intensive and difficult. But he’d expected those things going in.

Turns out, the part that is the absolute worst? The fact that he lives in the same building as his boyfriend and they haven’t touched each other, not even a kiss, (because at this point he barely counts the quick, covert pecks in the dining hall or the hugs while passing in the breezeway) for going on three weeks now.

Three weeks, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t sound like that much time. But Daichi has been _stressed_. So stressed that no amount of _anything_ (chamomile tea, extra trips to the gym, his roommate’s stupid vanilla scented candles) can do anything about it.

Daichi is very certain, in all honesty, that he just needs _Koushi_.

Koushi has been gone for a day—actually not even. He’s been gone for twenty-two hours because, yes, Daichi is counting. It is not uncommon for Koushi to be gone for two or three days in a row sometimes, but this time Daichi has a feeling (or at least a hope) that this go around, the absence will be quick.

Koushi’s neighbors and suitemate probably hate Daichi by now for all of his effort in checking up on the silver-blond and knocking on the door at all hours of the day and night. But this is nothing new, he’s often this way even when he knows Koushi’s exact whereabouts and he’s _not_ ragingly stressed and (admittedly) pretty fucking horny.

That minor little residual impulse to panic shoots through him when Koushi doesn’t immediately answer the door he’s pounding on for the fifth time that day. But Daichi fights through it, glaring at the brass knob and willing the universe (and all its realms) to just _try_ and screw them.

Because if anyone’s doing any _screwing_ here—

The door opens and before Daichi can open his mouth to give an audible sigh of relief a hand sneaks through the crack and pulls him forcefully into the room without pretense.

He blinks at Koushi as the door clicks shut behind him. “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” Koushi confirms with a warm kiss pressed to Daichi’s lips.

When Koushi almost immediately pulls back Daichi finds himself rocking forward, attempting to continue the kiss and deepen it if at all possible, but at the loss of contact he lets his eyes refocus again and he studies the boy before him. In the shadows of his room, only a desk lamp on to provide some minor illumination, Daichi finds that Koushi doesn’t look as bad as he sometimes does, like the times Daichi has found him curled on his bed or even the floor usually fast asleep, but with a pained looking expression worn into his pale, drawn face until he wakes up to Daichi’s welcoming arms.

But this time around he mostly just looks tired and a bit harried as Daichi assumes he himself probably looks, all things considered.

“Your grandfather would like for you to reconsider taking over the family business.”

Daichi stares, slack jawed, at Koushi’s expression of absolute nonchalance. If that isn’t a mood killer, then Daichi doesn’t know what is.

“Seriously, you’re telling me this now?” His voice is rough but he’s not really angry. He can’t blame Koushi after all, but this is the _third_ time he’s been given the same message and frankly, he’s getting a little tired of it. He’d already discussed things with his father and besides, his sister _wanted_ to do it.

“Daichi,” Koushi attempts to redirect Daichi’s thoughts back to more important things, such as the soft lips at his ear. “You seem a little tense. Are you feeling alright?”

A ‘ _little_ tense’ comes out a _little_ sarcastic, but there’s no way Koushi can’t tell just by looking at him. To combat the notion, Daichi wraps his hands around Koushi’s waist and pulls him flush. “I missed you,” he murmurs, bending to reach for Koushi’s neck. “And we’ve both been so busy lately.” Daichi grins at the way he manages to pull a soft gasp from the other just with a little tongue and teeth. “And—” he hesitates, only for one incoherent second. “ _I missed you_.”

Koushi hushes a laugh against Daichi’s jaw. “I think I get the picture,” he says with amusement before fingers move to fumble impatiently at the button of Daichi’s jeans, tugging them down with little warning.

Before Daichi can formulate a response, much less move, Koushi is sinking to the floor with Daichi’s back pressed to the door, a thin barrier between themselves and the hallway and the realities of the world.

He stares down at Koushi on his knees smiling up at him with a smile that should have been, for all intents and purposes, something innocent and familiar, but instead it is so entirely filthy and it makes Daichi’s cock twitch.

Koushi’s fingers travel up along the tight fabric of Daichi’s boxer-briefs, skimming the thick muscles of his thighs and tickling across the heated skin. Daichi swallows hard and realizes in an instant that Koushi has him right where he wants him.

Koushi mouths at him through the fabric and it has been so long and Daichi has felt so pent-up lately that he’s not entirely sure how long he’s going to be able to last. He let’s out a little whine at the thought and Koushi glances up at him through his lashes.

“Is this okay?” Koushi wonders with a hint of amusement and Daichi scowls down at him with absolutely no strength for actual malice.

“Yes,” he grits out, and then, “But you don’t have to—”

His words trail off as he watches Koushi pointedly ignore him and dip into his briefs. A second later he’s kissing away a pearly bead of white at the head of Daichi’s cock and that is answer enough for the both of them.

“Relax,” Koushi murmurs against reddening, sensitive skin. “I’m a decent stress reliever, right?”

Daichi bites back a groan at the sensation of those vibrating words. Koushi has quite possibly just hit him with the understatement of the century, but he tries to let his muscles obey regardless.

He continues to watch Koushi from above, watch those pretty lips and those sharp eyes and he begins to realize that it’s not just what Koushi is _doing_ to him, but it’s just Koushi himself, his presence, that is crumbling away all of Daichi’s pent-up tension from the last three weeks.

He hopes, from the content little smile and Koushi’s eager touches and the way he studies Daichi with such affection in his gaze, that the sentiment might just be mutual.

It is when Koushi swallows around him, gaze so clear and insistent, the blue smudges under his eyes seeming just the tiniest bit more faded than usual, that Daichi can’t stop himself from letting go.

A few moments later finds them tangled atop Koushi’s twin bed, one of Daichi’s legs slotted between Koushi’s slimmer ones and his lips mouthing lazily at his skin. The nagging chord of stress from earlier has vanished, replaced by placid bliss and warmth.

“How was it this time?” Daichi asks, hushed against the hot flesh of Koushi’s neck.

“Not bad,” Koushi whispers back, craning his head a bit to give Daichi better access. “Not really good, either.”

Daichi doesn’t ask anything more, doesn’t press him. Instead he reaches to tug at the waist of Koushi’s shorts.

“May I return the favor?”

Koushi hums, soft and sweet, his appreciation. “Yes, please.”

 

…

 

They’ve come up with a system of sorts. It works well enough and has saved Koushi a handful of times and has definitely cut down on his ever-growing anxiety levels. The system itself involves a large calendar posted up in their kitchen filled in with every possible important date from exams to assignment deadlines to coffee dates and even the occasional dentist appointment—basically if Koushi becomes _unavailable_ for something scribbled down on this calendar then Daichi will do everything in his power to set things straight.

In the end this has mostly just taught Daichi a single valuable lesson: he is exceptionally good at being persuasive. Apparently it’s his charm, according to Koushi.

So it is this calendar that Daichi frantically refers to at the end of the first week of December, with snow falling gracefully outside and seemingly everything else coming to fall down around his ears.

It is Thursday of finals week. Daichi has successfully passed two of his exams, is waiting on a third, and did his best just to scrape by without failing the fourth. Koushi passed his first exam of the week with flying colors (and much too much caffeine intake), turned in a long-agonized-over final paper, and has two more exams to go.

He’s been gone since Tuesday.

Perhaps the stars have aligned or Daichi just carries an extreme amount of good luck and karma with him at all times, but he’s managed to procure an alternate exam time for Koushi’s Organic Chemistry final. That was the first (and admittedly easiest) hurdle.

The second is dealing with Koushi’s dreaded Cell Bio professor.

So far throughout the semester the tenured dinosaur of an instructor has docked Koushi’s grade twice for ‘undocumented absences’ despite Koushi’s overall academic grade being the third highest in the class and managing to never miss an actual assignment or lab.

Koushi has always had a way with people, and if his charismatic nature didn’t work, then his academic prowess usually did the trick. But Daichi has spent one too many late nights this semester watching his boyfriend run himself into the ground for one stupid credit’s worth of Cell Biology to let everything be for nothing over one very unfortunately timed absence.

There’s four hours before the exam begins. Daichi can feel the anger starting to roll off of him in waves as he packs up his bag reciting over and over the words he’s had to use on so many other occasions, though this time they are fueled with just a bit more frustration and an edge of paranoia.

He’s just about ready to rip open the front door when the sound of a broken sob echoes through the empty room and Daichi drops his bag as his heart leaps into his throat.

Daichi isn’t sure whether to feel immense relief or distress as he turns to see a figure curling up on their couch, looking as though he’s attempting to hide himself under a pile of quilts left there since their last shared cram session late Monday night.

“Koushi.” The name is a breathless sigh on his tongue as he scrambles into the living room, hands stretching tentatively towards the woeful lump of blankets and person.

At his name Koushi peaks over the wall of fabric. His eyes are red rimmed and threatening to spill any second and Daichi can’t bring himself to remember the last time he’d seen the man this upset.

When Daichi sits down on the edge of the couch Koushi sucks in a painful sounding breath, trying unsuccessfully to calm himself. A broad palm moves to wrap across his leg and Daichi begins pressing soothing circles into the tense muscle of his thigh.

“What—” Koushi has to swallow past a hiccup. “What time is it?”

Without looking at the clock Daichi answers. “You’ve got exactly three hours and fifty-two minutes, Koushi,” he whispers deeply. “And you’ve got a makeup exam for Organic Chemistry tomorrow at one.”

This news seems to provide Koushi with the means to allow his body to fall lax against the couch cushions and Daichi’s firm touch, but at the same time the tears threatening to spill earlier start to find their way down his cheeks in large, glistening rivulets.

“It’s okay.” Daichi grabs Koushi’s shaking shoulders and pulls him in close against his chest. “ _You’re_ okay. And you are going to ace all of your exams, I have no doubt about that, Koushi.”

“I-I hate this,” Koushi murmurs, his voice wet and thick against Daichi’s shirt. “It’s s-so _unfair_.”

Daichi can feel his heart caving in, his lungs burning with every new breath as he lets Koushi cry into his chest and curl up in his arms.

He’s never heard Koushi say something like that before, but he can’t bring himself to argue with the obvious conviction. “I know,” he mouths into the silky hair at his lips even though he doesn’t. _He doesn’t know at all_ and that is perhaps the worst feeling Daichi has ever felt. He kisses the smooth skin of Koushi’s forehead over and over through his words. “I know. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

When there are no more tears left and Koushi’s body is shaking with a few residual dry sobs, he turns up with eyes clearer than Daichi has seen in weeks.

“I love you,” Koushi sniffs.

Daichi nods, because that is something he does know. “I love you too,” he says.

 

…

 

When Koushi disappears two days before their trip back home, Daichi is concerned. They’d been planning this trip for months, carefully sneaking necessary details from Kiyoko, making sure that the team couldn’t guess. It was a close call, trying to keep Asahi a secret too, especially when his (ex) underclassmen started pressuring him to come back for a tournament.

But he thinks they’re successful. All four of them can make it back for both days of the tournament—god, Daichi hopes they go both days, but he has faith in the team—and no one is any the wiser.

And then, of course, Koushi vanishes.

Daichi sweats it out, dreading having to cover this up. Koushi had been _so_ invested in the team, even after they graduated, and he’s not sure what he could say that wouldn’t make matters worse. It’d have to be a good excuse for him to miss this—especially since Daichi is making the trip, and he suspects that the team members they left behind suspected they were together—but he doesn’t want to make anyone worry. Koushi wouldn’t want anyone to worry.

Daichi packs for just himself, taking out the few things of Koushi’s that had already snuck into his bag. His favorite sweater, a pair of jeans, his old jersey jacket. Daichi’s is in there, too. His heart clenches a little when he takes Koushi’s out.

The train ride feels longer when he makes it alone.

He meets Kiyoko first, at a little bar two blocks from where the tournament is being held. She has aged as well in college as she had in high school, and Daichi feels a little self-conscious being alone with her at first, until they settle into an easy, if muted, conversation. There’s little pressure to fill the silence with her, and she doesn’t directly ask about Koushi, either.

Asahi arrives, flustered for being late (he’s not), and his look lingers at Daichi’s shoulder like he’s expecting Koushi to appear out of thin air. “Ah, he’s,” Daichi falters, a million terrible excuses on the tip of his tongue. Neither Asahi nor Kiyoko _know_ , and Daichi ends up lamely finishing, “He won’t be able to make it, after all. He’s sorry.”

Kiyoko makes a sympathetic noise and Asahi wilts, just a little.

They head to the gymnasium together, old jerseys on underneath their jackets, and almost make it before they’re accosted by Kinoshita and Ennoshita. They catch them just inside the doors, and there’s frantic shushing and exclamations and excitement before they find out that most of the others are here, too. Narita is on a drink run, and Nishinoya had already been found out (long ago) and has saved them seats, and Tanaka is running late with his sister.

Daichi rubs the back of his head and continues making half-assed, vague excuses for Koushi.

They manage to snag seats with the others, just as Narita arrives with arms full of sports drinks and soda, and Asahi has to go as far as clapping a hand over Noya’s mouth to keep him from announcing to the entire gym that they’re here. Karasuno hasn’t gotten out onto the court yet—they’re right on time, they’re due any moment, and Daichi can’t help the thrum of his own excitement at being able to be here for this, for _them_. The last, proud vestiges of _his_ team, now with their own team, now proudly standing on their own two feet.

The floor is cleared for the next match, and the teams file onto the court. Daichi thinks he and Asahi are both holding their breath, but it’s _Kiyoko_ who leans over the railing with a large wave and a somehow dainty yet equally excited call of, “Hitoka-chan!”

Yachi twirls around so fast she trips over her own feet and flops against Hinata, who startles and whips his head around at nearly the same time. Both of them let out fairly matching shrieks at seeing everyone up in the stands for them.

The other team is eyeing them like they’re weirdos, but god, Daichi has _missed_ these weirdos. Yamaguchi waves both arms over his head, beam just as bright as Koushi’s has ever been, looking phenomenal in the #1 jersey. Even Tsukishima, beside him, manages a smile, whereas Kageyama looks faintly constipated for a few moments before offering a raise of his hand. Yachi mirrors Yamaguchi’s waving with the kind of flustered excitement Daichi has not seen from her since her first year, but even she cannot compare to the poor, red-faced first-years on the team who are now meeting Shimizu Kiyoko for the first time.

Daichi can see as the math is done: they note the missing ones, the extra loud cheer and bright grins. Daichi resolves to make up for them—

Just as the double doors behind them burst open and Tanaka and _Koushi_ sprint up to the railing and nearly run into Nishinoya. “Go Karasuno!” they shout in unison, true to form (extra loud and extra bright), startling the team all over just as they’d settled in for their warm-ups.

“Look who we found at the train station,” Tanaka says, an arm around Koushi’s shoulders, his grin particularly shark-like. “Sae’s parking right now, but good thing we were running late, huh? Can’t believe you ditched your own boyfriend, man.”

He reaches over and playfully punches Daichi’s shoulder, and he’s too busy looking at Koushi’s pink cheeks and tousled hair to care much. “I told you,” Koushi scolds, even through his smile, “I was late myself. A captain would never be so unreliable.”

“But a vice captain could be?” Ennoshita asks, eyebrow raised.

“We’re here now! The ex-Karasuno cheer squad is complete!”

“Time to make some noise!” Tanaka declares and he and Noya immediately get into it, renewed screaming enough to make Kageyama below startle and nearly drop the ball.

Koushi laces his fingers with Daichi, and repeats, for his ears only, “I’m here now.”

Daichi squeezes his hand and replies, “Yeah, you are. Glad you could make it.”

 

…

 

Koushi rubs at the fatigue in his eyes with the heel of his hand while jamming his key into the door and twisting roughly. When was the last time he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep (or sleep, _period_ )? He hasn’t a clue, which is really a little bit frightening. But what he does know is that if he’s going to celebrate the successful end to a semester from hell it is going to involve himself and his bed and their gloriously uninterrupted reunion until sometime around when his next semester begins.

What Koushi hadn’t taken into account is the warm, spicy aroma that filters past the door jam or how it manages to lift his sleepy lids just enough to survey his dimly lit living room. There is a mess of uncoordinated candles clustered atop the kitchen table accompanied by a carafe of hydrangea and what looks suspiciously like a bottle of wine with an actual cork instead of a cheap twist off cap.

Either he’s walked into the wrong apartment in his half-zombified state or else he’s forgotten something he should definitely not have forgotten.

For a very startling second Koushi wracks his brain just to make sure he hasn’t missed some important date or occasion, an anniversary or a birthday. What was the date today again? He comes up blank on all accounts and instead just stands in the doorway staring dumbly at the utterly romantic scene before him.

Honestly, it still doesn’t even hit him when Daichi comes sauntering out of the kitchen wearing that stupid (so adorably stupid) gag gift of an apron denoting that ‘Real Men Wear Aprons’ and bearing a smooth grin and a little beribboned box.

Koushi, still in all his exhausted glory, cannot actually help his bluntness. “What is all this?” He drops his shoulder bag unceremoniously onto the floor and finally lets the door click shut behind him.

For what it is worth, his mild crankiness does not seem to faze Daichi at all and Koushi could have kissed him all over for his saintliness if he wasn’t so damn exhausted.

“Well I had planned this nice, romantic evening for you as a sort of congratulations,” Daichi says, leaning against the wall so casually, crossing his arms over his chest. “But if you’d rather sleep through Sunday I can arrange for that instead. I don’t think the flowers will last till then and the food may spoil, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for you.”

There’s a definite tone to Daichi’s words, it’s not angry by any means but Koushi can practically taste all the extra salt floating in the air between them.

He manages an appreciative smirk. “Congratulations?” he repeats, toeing off his shoes and trying hard to hide his little unbalanced stumble during the process.

Daichi shakes the little box still clutched in his hand, the golden ribbons shimmering in the candle light. “For finishing your semester of course.” His smile widens. “And for passing the MCAT.”

Koushi’s eyes widen. “Dai—”

But Daichi beats him to it, reaching behind to pull a letter from his back pocket and brandishing it pridefully for Koushi to swipe hurriedly out of his fingers. “I didn’t open it,” he explains as Koushi examines the crisp envelope marked express. “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

He _is_ right and Koushi had been so busy trying to quash any unnecessary joy at the news that he’d forgotten to even think about telling anyone.

“Yes,” Koushi breathes, wide awake now. “I checked the results online this morning, I meant to call you but—”

Daichi interrupts with a wave of his hand. “You can make it up to me somehow,” he jokes before tapping his fingers against the box in his hand. “Now sit down and open your present before you pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Koushi mumbles through a pout, but follows Daichi’s command regardless.

“Just try and tell me that if I hadn’t interrupted you with all of this—” Daichi makes a vague motion towards the kitchen and overflowing flowers. “—that you wouldn’t be face down in bed five minutes ago.”

Koushi can’t really argue with that so instead he just clutches at the box now in front of him and tries to ignore the impulse to laugh at the interesting melding of aromas coming from the conglomeration of every single scented candle they own acting as a glowing centerpiece on their rickety dining table.

He tugs at a cut edge of the ribbon and most of the curls fall loose enough for him to push back the lid. Inside on a bed of crumpled tissue paper lays a stethoscope, silver and powder blue and shiny and new.

“It may be a bit premature, but I just thought—” Koushi looks up at Daichi’s hesitation and notices for the first time how red his cheeks have gone and just how well he looks in that gaudy apron.

“It’s perfect,” Koushi says, and he’s not just talking about the stethoscope.

He’s not sure if it’s his sleep deprivation or the patterns the candle light is splaying across Daichi’s blushing skin or the way those apron strings are tied just tight enough to show the definition of his waist, but Koushi can’t deny the sudden urge prickling low in his stomach.

He grabs at the stethoscope, flicking it up and around his neck with what feels like practiced ease and stands to observe Daichi with his best impression of seriousness. “Daichi,” he starts, taking a step forward and restraining his amusement at the way the other’s dark eyes are blown wide. “Do I need to give you a thorough examination?”

There’s a moment of hesitance from both of them where Koushi isn’t sure if Daichi is going to laugh, scowl, or just melt right then and there.

He doesn’t end up doing any of those things, but he comes close when he slumps into the chair across from Koushi with a thump. “Y-You can’t say stuff like that,” he groans, watching the man in front of him closely.

“I can and I will!” Koushi announces before slinking up to Daichi and bracing hands on his thighs to lean in close—and wow, are they _tense_. Koushi holds his breath for a heartbeat before he comes to the resolute decision that there is no going back now. “This seems like another pro to the whole fourteen years of schooling and fellowships,” he whispers, so close now that he can see the way Daichi’s lips twitch at the near contact.

“What?” Daichi manages something of a smirk, but it’s weak compared to Koushi’s boiling proximity. “Embarrassing the crap out of me with your doctor come-ons?”

“That,” Koushi hums in agreement. “But mostly the fact that they _work_.”

He trails his right hand from Daichi’s thigh to the obvious hardness between them and Daichi groans, automatically pushing into the touch.

“Dinner will get cold,” he attempts to complain as Koushi only presses in harder, more demanding.

Koushi’s laugh is soft and warm against the skin of Daichi’s neck. “You’re seriously worried about the food?”

Daichi sucks in a breath and turns his jaw to force Koushi’s attention away from a particularly sensitive spot. “I spent a lot of time on it,” he says wearily.

“ _Daichi_ ,” Suga whines around a giggle removing his hand only to have Daichi’s hips push up greedily at the sudden absence.

“Okay fine,” Daichi huffs, grabbing at the offending stethoscope still resting around Koushi’s neck in an attempt to reel him back in. “But can we at least take this to the bedroom?”

“Of course,” Koushi purrs, trying not to laugh. “My exams are always confidential.”

 

…

 

Things have been a bit more challenging lately, what with Koushi’s shifts at the hospital and Daichi in lectures all day which usually leads to grading all night. They barely have time to sleep in the same bed together, much less share a meal or even just a conversation other than a rushed ‘love you’ or a scattered ‘have a great day.’

It is difficult, especially with Koushi’s infrequent absences and the excuses for them piling up a mile high with the hospital. He’s been working doubly as hard as anyone else in his residency but somehow, by luck and good graces, both he and Daichi have managed to seize a Friday evening all to themselves.

Daichi looks forward to it all day. His head is in such a distracted fog that he even lets his students go fifteen minutes early from his afternoon block just to let his own mind wander a bit before the next wave rolls in. The coming evening is full of possibilities, too many to even count; when was the last time they’d been to a restaurant together, or caught a movie, or even just sat on the couch to catch up on some stupid television drama neither was really invested in?

It is four more grueling hours before Daichi makes his way to the hospital (extra large, extra caffeinated coffee in hand) and by then he is so on edge that he can’t even bring himself to sit down in the lobby’s waiting room. So instead he paces and checks his phone and then paces some more. He ignores the receptionist’s little stares of sympathy (or is it more irritation?) and continues to wait impatiently.

Koushi does not show up.

He’s been waiting twenty minutes and still Koushi has not made his way down the boring, beige hall and into the lobby with familiar bags under his eyes and a smile for Daichi. He does not jump into his waiting arms, or nearly spill his already-gone-cold cup of deadly black coffee. He does not melt into Daichi’s embrace or kiss him senseless in front of the (now definitely irritated) receptionist.

A pit proceeds to form in Daichi’s stomach.

Of course, there are plenty of reasons why Koushi might not have shown up yet. They’re in a hospital after all, emergencies _do_ happen (and _often_ if Koushi’s many stress-induced phone calls have anything to show for themselves).

But for some reason that pit in Daichi’s stomach is telling him that it is something else altogether. Something that no one, not even Sugawara Koushi, can prevent.

He leaves the cold cup of coffee behind on a rickety plastic table and walks with purpose towards the elevator bank. Daichi ignores the receptionist’s stare in favor of trying to quell the still yet unfounded disappointment and nerves swelling within his ribcage and stabs the little up arrow with too much force.

He has _never_ blamed Koushi. He _would never_ blame Koushi, not in a million years. But still, he cannot begin to fathom how _unfair_ this situation has every chance of turning out to become.

Daichi finds at least some bit of luck on his side when he exits the elevator and nearly runs headlong into a young nurse that Koushi’s introduced him to a handful of times in passing.

She stares up at Daichi, startled and looking considerably horrified. Daichi’s entire body is tense and his expression can only be that much worse for this woman to be gaping at him like he might spontaneously combust right here next to the fifth floor nurse’s station.

“I’m looking for Sugawara,” he says before the woman can inquire as to why his face is turning three shades of panic.

“Sawamura-san, oh um—last I saw him he was heading towards the on-call room,” she answers a bit stunted with a gesture down the hallway. “But that was awhile ago now.”

Daichi nods and flashes the nurse what he hopes is not a manic smile before edging around her and towards a somewhat familiar looking door. How long ago had she seen him enter? Surely if he were going to be running late Koushi would have texted or called?

The knowing pit in Daichi’s stomach was growing rapidly.

When he knocks tentatively on the door, twisting the handle to find it unlocked, Daichi is intensely positive that he is going to find rumpled sheets and an empty bunk.

Instead he is faced with something much more heart stopping.

Koushi is _there_ , curled into himself with a blanket halfway draped over his legs and scrubs a wrinkled mess. Silver-blond falls in all directions across a stark-white pillow and his lips are slack, parted with his breathing. His skin looks pink and warm and Daichi has to fight against the sudden urge to run his hands over every inch of Koushi’s body.

On all accounts, Daichi decides, this is way, _way_ better than what he’d been expecting.

In his sleep Koushi makes a small noise, a mumble of indeterminable words, and Daichi can no longer resist.

He walks forward, light on his feet, and moves to sit in the little space left between Koushi’s curled form and the edge of the bunk. There’s a large part of him that doesn’t want to wake him, but instead let him sleep here cuddled amongst bleached sheets with Daichi’s fingers threading softly through his hair.

But Koushi is off the clock, has been for going on twenty-eight minutes now, and Daichi knows just the disappointed pout Koushi would give him if he knew he’d slept through their entire night off together.

“Koushi?” Daichi whispers, giving the man’s shoulder a gentle shake.

Eyes peel open almost immediately at the familiar voice, staring up at Daichi with a glazed look of incomprehension. It takes exactly six and a half seconds (Daichi’s keeping a running count in his head) for Koushi to blink away his (adorably) sleepy state, his eyes to widen and for him shoot Daichi with a near terrified stare.

“I-I was just resting my eyes so I wouldn’t be so exhausted for our date,” he mumbles, fumbling up into a sitting position. “Daichi, I’m so sorry, you must have thought—”

“Shut up Koushi, you’re absolutely _not_ allowed to apologize for that.” Daichi’s voice comes out more powerful than he’d intended, but the utter relief at actually _finding_ Koushi is still washing over him in waves and he can’t quite seem to keep any of his emotions in check.

Koushi quirks a worried brow. “Daichi?”

Daichi pulls at his wrists ignoring the concern in favor of setting his boyfriend with a warm smile. “Come on, screw date-night. We’re getting take-out and going home,” he explains softly. “You can fall asleep there, in bed or on the couch or on me for all I care. I don’t give a damn as long as we’re together.”

Something flashes in Koushi’s gaze and suddenly he seems very much _awake_. “Promises, promises, Sawamura Daichi. You sure are a romantic.”

Daichi pats one of his bent knees. “Hey, have I ever broken a promise?”

Koushi shoots him a look that manages to have Daichi’s skin burning in an instant just before he pushes in for an unprecedented kiss.

“No,” he says against the other’s lips. “Now let’s get going so I can make full use of my favorite pillow. A promise is a promise.”


	4. of many reasons i love you, here is one

They’ve danced around it for years, Daichi has realized.

Marriage is something that has always floated around at the back of his mind, just the same as _find a career_ and _learn to drive_ and _graduate_ have all done the same. It’s just a natural assumption of someone’s life.

Maybe that’s not the best assumption to make. Granted, they’re both men, and Daichi _had_ thought about that part when he’d first truly realized his feelings for Koushi ran deeper than friendship or even an innocent crush. This is the love of his life. They’ve been together for a decade now, even through the rough patches, the disappearances, the fights, the late nights and illnesses and stress and low points.

A _decade_. Koushi has been part of his life for almost twice that. Daichi loves him, and he knows Koushi loves him in return; just how much they love each other is the stuff of legends. (At least, that’s what Hinata drunkenly confessed one night out during their university years; the captain and vice captain _couple_ who managed to swing Karasuno back toward the road to glory. Daichi had never meant to leave _that_ kind of legacy. Koushi had thought it extremely hilarious.)

But now that he thinks about it, maybe it had been a foregone conclusion all along.

How can he expect Koushi to take that sort of risk with him? They keep things discreet (but never lie) in their professional lives, although by now they’re out to most of their families and close friends. Marriage would not be out of the question for them, even with the uphill battle of paperwork and legal rights.

But he couldn’t ask Koushi to do that.

So he hasn’t.

He can’t separate what Koushi _is_ , nor does he want to. Daichi admittedly adores the idea of spending the rest of his life with the man—receiving what life Koushi can give to him in return—but they don’t need a certificate or changed names or even rings to do that. They’ve already moved in together, and both are listed as emergency contacts for the other, beating out immediate family. Half their bills are paid together. Koushi has joked (he thinks, at least) about opening up a bank account to share to ‘make rent and bills easier’.

This seems like the long game if Daichi has ever seen it.

Late at night, when Koushi is asleep and his starlight hair fans out across their dark pillows like a halo, Daichi can’t stop himself from the lingering looks or soft touches.

This man is his. He doesn’t need to prove that to anyone else.

Daichi takes Koushi’s hand in his and presses a kiss to the back of it; Koushi doesn’t stir and actually snores a little. Daichi can’t restrain his smile.

Maybe it’s a horrible thought, but in moments like these, Daichi can understand why Koushi worries so much. He feels full to bursting, overcome with love and happiness at simply getting this far in life together. They’ve gotten to share _so much_. Who knows when it could end, but he’s so desperately happy for this much.

 

…

 

To the surprise of no one who actually knew them, Bokuto Koutarou and Akaashi Keiji end up married as soon as Keiji passed the National Medical License exam. Koushi also, personally, isn’t particularly surprised by the fact that they eloped outside of the country. There’s no real ceremony to miss, Koutarou sends everyone more pictures than they can handle, and when they both return, Keiji seems a little happier.

Koushi finds himself sighing whenever the ring on his finger catches the light.

Keiji does not say anything directly to him, which, considering his blunt (pointedly tactless) personality, Koushi considers a mercy. Dealing with medical professionals day in and day out has somewhat skewed Koushi’s perspective on who knows what anymore, but he’s certain most of his coworkers suspect _something_ from his random disappearances. He doesn’t exactly think that this comes from pity, but he does appreciate Keiji’s silence on the matter.

Other mutual friends are not as quiet.

Koushi, even now, doesn’t quite run in the same circles as Daichi, so he only hears second hand of the ‘ranting and raving’ Daichi had to deal with from Tetsurou. Apparently, he’s been planning on some sort of grand gesture since approximately age nine, and views Koutarou’s marriage as a personal affront because _he’d_ wanted to be first of their friend group—and also because there had been really nothing to have been invited to.

Koushi finds their childishness somewhat refreshing. He also finds Daichi’s exasperation at having to act as their go-between for a solid two weeks incredibly entertaining. He’s glad no one yet is too worried about acting their age. Adulthood is overrated in that way, and Koushi is tired of the stuffy personalities he works with.

So, as it turns out, the first proper wedding they attend together is for Tetsurou and Kenma.

As it also turns out, this changes most of their unwed friends into utter saps. Koushi only gets glimpses of most of it; he’s too busy to tag along for most of Daichi’s ‘annoying as shit groomsman duties’, so when the date finally arrives, he’s a little blindsided. Alright, so he expected most of Tetsurou’s high school and college teammates to ramp up the waterworks, and there was a sizeable pool on how much Tetsurou would end up crying.

But _Kenma_ hastily hides his face in his sleeve after Miyuki’s speech about her new brother, and Koushi hardly believes the instantaneous jeers about who owes money for _that_.

Order is restored with matching barks from the Kuroo siblings, and Koushi almost feels sympathetic toward Kenma for the outburst—until later, when, intending to wish him congratulations, he catches him with two of his old teammates on their knees with their foreheads pressed to the floor. Koushi can’t restrain a smile, especially at the faux-irritated picture Kenma paints.

He intends on ducking away again, coming back later for his well wishes or maybe snagging his new husband instead, until he actually hears part of Kenma’s scolding. “It’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life, or something. I’m allowed to be a little emotional.”

Koushi swallows, throat suddenly constricted.

He doesn’t know how Daichi _knows_ to be there, but suddenly Koushi’s hand is entwined with his, and Koushi gives Daichi a squeeze before the words can linger in his brain. Koushi leans into him, set on leaving the scene and maybe pulling him into another dance, but Tetsurou scoots by them to throw himself rather dramatically at Kenma. “There’s my darling hubby!” he croons, and everyone within earshot winces.

“God,” Daichi mutters, and now he’s the one pulling Koushi quickly away. “What a sap.”

Koushi kindly does not point out exactly how sappy Daichi has been. On many occasions.

The sappiness turns out to be something of a saving grace, however, as a tipsy Tetsurou leans a little too heavily on Kenma and announces, “Don’t you worry, babe. We’ll have even happier days to come, you don’t gotta count one where Lev couldn’t keep his big mouth shut as the happiest.”

Daichi squeezes his hand, this time, and they finally duck away. Koushi does not lead him straight to the dance floor, yet, but _does_ let these other words linger. _Even happier days to come, huh?_ There’s merit to it.

 

…

 

“Sixty percent chance of rain this afternoon,” Koushi mutters around the edge of his faded blue mug, eyes burrowed in the scroll of articles on his phone screen. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t catch the way Daichi studies him with such a look in his eyes, epiphanic in nature, but Koushi doesn’t catch it because he’s too busy still trying to wake up.

“Koushi,” Daichi says, just loud enough for the other’s ears to perk but his eyes still not to bother looking up. “Let’s get married today.”

There’s a moment, albeit brief, where Koushi blinks several times in slow succession and wonders if maybe he’s still asleep. He has enough sense to put his coffee cup down and then brings his right hand to curl fingers against his wrist and surreptitiously pinch at the tender skin there.

He winces, which he thinks is a good sign, maybe. Well if he wasn’t awake before, at least now there is no doubt.

“I’m sorry.” Koushi’s voice, for some stupid reason, doesn’t seem to want to cooperate properly. “What did you just say, Daichi?”

Daichi stares straight ahead, nearly straight through him, so calm and composed it’s almost unfair. “I said that we should get married today.”

All personal logic tells Koushi that he should bury away the emotions he can feel bubbling to the surface, politely decline, and then perhaps suggest another alternative to their quiet Saturday morning together. A stroll through the park was always a pleasant idea or maybe some window shopping—they need new kitchen towels after all.

But Sugawara Koushi is no shrinking violet, not timid by any means and as much as the rational part of his brain might protest, he decides rather quickly that, truth be told, he wants nothing more than to sing _Finally!_ from the top of his lungs.

Instead, however, he refrains from theatrics and meets Daichi’s gaze head-on, watching the man’s reading glasses as they start to slip down the bridge of his nose. “Your mother would kill us.”

Daichi shakes his head with an amused snort. “She’s got my sister to play wedding planner for.”

“True, we were probably never going to have some fairytale wedding anyways,” Koushi says thoughtfully, trying (unsuccessfully) not to picture them in gaudy tuxedos and a horse-drawn carriage.

“Honestly, I thought we were never going to have a wedding, _period_.” Daichi’s voice, soft and careful, cuts sharply through Koushi’s daydreaming. “Eloping or not.”

“Daichi—”

“Are you sure you want to?”

Koushi studies the man across from him, Daichi’s expression so earnest it makes him fluster. “Well you’re just being so incredibly romantic about the whole thing, so how can I refuse?”

“I’m being serious, Koushi.” Daichi’s voice has dropped in pitch and all pretense of lightheartedness has vanished. “Just say the word and I won’t bring it up again.”

The energy that lingers between them is thick and severe. Koushi knows that something like marriage cannot be taken lightly; it’s why he’s been so hesitant, so unsure about it. The idea has always been a fleeting one for him, a dream, something he can watch others enter into, but never could imagine for himself.

But maybe he’s been too cautious, too unwilling to take on risks. What is life, after all, without a little happiness? What is risk without reward?

“I—” Koushi hesitates, choking on nothing but air. He swallows before he can suppress the urge to break rules and let go of all resistance. “Yes. Yes, let’s do it.”

Daichi looks the pillar of strength, though the wide, giddy smile spreading his lips gives him away easily in Koushi’s eyes. “Okay,” he nods. “Get dressed.”

It’s Koushi’s turn to grin, to absolutely _beam_. “Just like that?” he asks, the weight on his shoulders suddenly feeling lighter than it has in a very long while.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight on impulse, sucks in a breath at the sensation of trembling, frightening joy. When he opens them again Daichi is standing in front of him, still there. _He’s still there._

 _Koushi_ is still there.

“Just like that,” Daichi’s velvet words echo into his ears. “I did my research, we’ll have to sign for a partnership certificate, but other than that it’s actually kind of simple these days.”

Koushi looks up with something a little less than bliss and a little more than happiness flooding through him. “I’m okay with simple,” he says.

Daichi hums his agreement, extending his hand to Koushi. “It seems fitting, considering most things with us are the opposite.”

Grasping Daichi’s warm palm Koushi stands on slightly unsteady legs. He let’s Daichi catch his weight, just a bit on purpose. “We’re getting married today,” he whispers eagerly.

“We’re getting married today,” Daichi repeats through a warm smile and seals the confirmation with a kiss.

 

…

 

“I’m still here,” Koushi murmurs, a joyous, continuous burble against the bare skin of Daichi’s shoulder. “We did it! I can’t believe we did it. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“Yes, I talked you into all of it,” Daichi indulgently replies, bravely keeping the laugh out of his voice. Mostly. He hefts Koushi up further in his arms, pressing him against the closed door, grinning against his throat. They’re both too lost in breathless, unbelievable giggles for much kissing, but it doesn’t detract from the heat between them. Joy boils over and Daichi thinks he might explode with all the love within him.

He can only imagine how Koushi’s feeling.

His mantra of how he’s still here is probably a clue.

“It’s all joy and sparkles and sunlight from here on out,” Daichi grins, giving into the laughter, even as he _tries_ to press open-mouthed kisses against the fair skin in front of him. Koushi’s shirt is open, unbuttoned all the way, but he has yet to shrug it off, braced against the door as he is. Daichi hasn’t wanted to move him yet. He’s too satisfied by his weight in his arms.

“You’re a grown-ass man, listen to yourself!”

“I want to listen to the way you’re laughing. Forever.”

“I’m laughing in utter _disbelief_! You’re too much,” Koushi replies in absolute delight. He cards both hands back through Daichi’s cropped hair, beaming down at him, radiant and lovely.

Their mouths meet, a little too much teeth and definitely too many chuckles between them. Koushi tastes like champagne and chapstick, and Daichi hums, pleased, against him as he shifts him again so they’re better matched. (They’re always such a good match. He’s a lucky man.)

Koushi nips at him, playful, and makes a show of batting his eyelashes when Daichi huffs at him. Some picture of innocence. Daichi answers in kind, biting down at the plushness of Koushi’s bottom lip, earning a gasp, before ducking down and kissing along his neck. Koushi cranes his head back again, this time breathless in a new, probably better way; Daichi’s arms strain with his weight but the way Koushi squirms against him is so, so worth it.

By the time they’re both panting and pushing against each other, seeking friction and heat and _more_ , Daichi gives up his muscle versus gravity fight. He got to carry Koushi over the threshold (well, of a hotel room), so that’s what matters, and stumbling hand-in-hand toward the bed beats anything else, anyway. Koushi is the one who pushes him down onto the bed, falling atop him a moment later in an apparent bid to make Daichi feel his solidity at every waking moment, and their remaining clothes are shed in a haphazard rush.

Someone’s boxers, hilariously enough, legitimately ends up tossed over the lampshade.

(Koushi will take a picture of it later.)

Now, there is just one another. The only things either of them wear now are their wedding bands, which occasionally catch the moonlight streaming in from the open window, and Daichi’s eye is drawn to Koushi’s every time.

“God, I love you so much,” Koushi whispers into his hair, voice strained from Daichi’s fingers buried in him, heavy with equal parts lust and love. “Thank you—thank you for loving me.”

Daichi doesn’t balk from his misty eyes or the candor of his words, even if he briefly thinks about trying to make a joke to break this weight. But they deserve this, too, and Daichi knows how much this milestone means. “I’ve never been more thankful for anyone coming into my life.” He can’t even bring himself to thank him in return; Daichi hadn’t exactly meant to cry, he definitely didn’t mean to cry during the wedding night for god’s sake, but Koushi shushes him and runs his hands through his hair again and maybe his cheeks are a little wet, too.

When he sinks down over Daichi’s length, staggered breath catching and sniffing as he runs his wrist over his eyes, Koushi is smiling. He’s pale in the moonlight, tall and strong and devastatingly beautiful, and his smile has never affected Daichi more.

Koushi rides him without haste, not restraining any of the satisfied sounds he makes, making sure to keep eye contact with Daichi the entire time. It’s not quite a tease, but damn close. When Koushi stoops to kiss him, sweet and slow, Daichi takes over the pace, wrapping his arms tight around his husband. Their kiss melts into something hotter, but no less sweet, now tasting of the moans each of them let out as their bodies move together.

None of this is wrong—nothing about them, or Koushi, or Daichi, or their love. It could never be wrong, not when they’re so damned perfect for each other, and Daichi knows what he’s getting into. But it will be worth it, because everyone dies, anyway, and he’s going to make sure to fill their life together with so many happy days Koushi will never be able to leave.

They finish together with words of love and adoration and so much cheesiness that Daichi bursts out laughing all over again. Koushi joins him, unheeding of the mess, and they end up in a tangle of limbs and laughter and love.

 

…

 

The orange jello on Koushi’s tray wiggles furiously as he walks to an empty table, light on his feet and trying (disastrously) to keep the contented smile off of his face.

It is days like this that are the reason he truly loves his job.

He is methodically picking at the crust of his sandwich and replaying the day’s earlier events over in his mind when another tray is sat on the table before him with a startling clap.

“I just filed the discharge forms for Aiko-kun,” Misaki Hana says, settling in across from him with a knowing little smile. “That must feel pretty gratifying.”

Koushi offers her a genuine glance. “Just doing my job,” he shrugs.

“All in a day’s work, is that it?” she asks pointedly in return. Koushi watches as she skillfully gathers her hair into a ponytail, a little longer than what he can remember from high school. Misaki shoots him a full-blown grin this time, wholeheartedly confident, and _that_ he definitely remembers from high school.

“You’re too humble,” she sniffs, giving him a false look down the bridge of her nose.

Koushi finally grins at that. “Hello pot, my name’s kettle,” he answers, easily catching her off guard. “Remember that double shift you worked last week after that semi flipped on Route 10? If I recall right, we had to practically lock you in the on-call room after things got under control.”

Misaki crumbles with a roll of her eyes and a faint blush. “Okay, we’re both selfless human beings. Happy now?”

“I am,” Koushi hums. “It feels like there’s been so many bad days in a row that a good day like today really puts things back into perspective, don’t you think?”

Because, if he'd entered into this profession for those bad days, recently he's come to realize that he’s _stayed_ in it for the odd good one here and there.

“Humble _and_ wise.” Misaki dips a spoon into her soup with a little flourish. “Daichi’s a lucky guy.”

Now it is Koushi’s turn to flush. “How is Okita-san doing?” he wonders in an attempt to distract her from saying anything more blush-inducing.

“He’s doing well,” she nods, her expression shifting instinctively into something more serious. “One more round of radiation just to make sure his scan comes back clean, but his thyroglobulin levels are better than ever.”

“That’s great—” Koushi’s words are cut off by a raucous bout of laughter coming from a gaggle of surgeons two tables over. His gaze cuts to the blushing face of a young man not so subtly side-eyeing he and Misaki’s two-seater.

“They’re giving the new resident a hard time again,” he laughs under his breath, turning back to Misaki with a growing smirk. “He’s cute. What harm could one date do, Hana?”

Misaki sniffs, trying not to let Koushi see the little fluster of her own. “He’s a baby,” she answers quickly.

Koushi raises a slim brow. “He’s twenty-nine, that’s only four years diff—”

“Hush and eat your lunch, Suga,” Misaki spits, fumbling with her spoon and reaching haphazardly for a napkin to hide the full on blush invading her cheeks.

Obediently (but not without a little puff of his chest) Koushi goes back to his meal, enjoying the easy feeling at least for a moment.

 

…

 

It’s midterms and Daichi is drowning in piles of ungraded papers and unfiled assignments and unscheduled students knocking on his office door every two or three minutes it seems. He has office hours for a reason, but in reality he’s been spending more time than he really should cooped up in his little shared closet behind his desk of chaotic stacks and empty coffee mugs so he doesn’t exactly blame any of his students for dropping in because, after all, he’s practically living there.

It was like this every year, every semester, but it seemed like Daichi never quite learned not to assign his students a midterm paper followed by an essay based exam. In the end it was probably more work for him than it was for them.

“You guys have thirty minutes left,” he announces to the few remaining students scribbling furiously at the pages in front of them. They don’t look up, only seem to write exponentially faster, and just watching them makes Daichi’s hands ache.

He sighs from the table at the head of the classroom dubiously eyeing the finished exams in front of him, yet another stack for him to grade. Daichi pushes at the bridge of his reading glasses, rubbing at the subtly throbbing space between his eyes and ending up pushing the glasses all the way up until they are resting on top of his head. His eyes strain just slightly until they can properly refocus.

There’s a tiny knocking sound coming from the classroom doorway and when Daichi turns to investigate his brain takes a few seconds too long to catch up with reality.

Koushi stands in the doorway watching him with an ever-growing smile. He’s still got his white lab coat on over his neutral slacks and button down combo and he’s holding a very large coffee cup in one hand and a pastry bag in the other.

But the thing that breaks Daichi’s mind out of his fatigue-induced fog is not Koushi’s presence or grin (more of a beam now, really) but the hushed whispers and snickers that come from the few still occupied desks in front of him.

Daichi’s head snaps back forward and he fits the remaining students with his best authoritative scowl. The students do not appear too fazed however, as apparently a reputation precedes one Sawamura-sensei. That being, of course, that his bark is much worse than his bite.

“You have twenty-one minutes left,” he informs them before standing. “Also, how about you at least try and act your age?”

This only serves to send up another round of giggling (Koushi included).

“They’ve all got crushes on you,” he informs Koushi as he approaches to lean against the door jamb.

“ _All_ of them? I hardly think so,” Koushi whispers back conspiratorially. “If anything, it’s you they’re daydreaming about, Sawamura-sensei. I see those girls in the front row ogling you behind your back everytime I stop in for a visit.”

Daichi’s eyes roll with practiced ease, but he still flushes a bit at Koushi’s use of the honorific. “You brought coffee?” he asks, gesturing to the cup hopefully.

Koushi nods and pushes the cup into his waiting hand. “And Dorayaki,” he adds before offering up the little pastry bag as well.

“You’re the absolute best,” Daichi says, angling himself enough in the doorway that he can nuzzle a kiss against Koushi’s cheek without his nosy class getting any more fodder for their tittering. “Now go home and sleep, okay?”

“Alright.” Koushi manages to brush a quick kiss against Daichi’s lips. “I’ll see you later?”

Daichi feels his shoulders tense. “Yes,” he says before adding with a little hesitancy. “I hope so.”

Koushi shoots him a softer version of his best smile even though they’ve both mostly grown comfortable in living with uncertainty. “I hope so too.”

 

…

 

“Code Blue, Intensive Care!” the nurse’s powerful voice echoes across the intercom. “Code Blue, Intensive Care!”

To an outsider the uptick of frantic personnel and scrubs and lab coats would be seen as a whirlwind of chaos and shouting and disoriented orders. To the doctors and therapists and nurses in the mix of things everything slows, voices level out as paths are crossed and intersected in an efficient and familiar pattern. It flows, it works, it is a system honed down to a science.

Furious little beeps and blips of machines invade Koushi’s ears as his muscles work on memory. A vicious flat line sends nurses scrambling and his own words to become even and decisive. His hands shake. But they don’t have time to panic, they never do.

A nurse rips away the paper-thin hospital gown, placing cardiac leads as another monitors the IV drip. Koushi sets to methodically opening the airway, placing a tube and watching carefully as the resident respiratory therapist starts to administer oxygen through the Ambu.

What feels like hours fly past as seconds, each one ticking by in time with the racing hearts of everyone in the room, everyone save for the thin, pale frame swallowed up by needles and lines and steadying hands.

_“Clear!”_

The word throws the entire room back on instinct.

The electric shock pulses.

“Dopamine, wide open,” Koushi demands. He moves over the exposed chest, takes a single breath, and starts compressions.

 

…

 

“I miss Rin,” Koushi dramatically announces, like he does every so often until he can unsubtly badger Daichi into going home for a visit to see the dog (who is in fact the second dog named Rin that the Sawamura family has owned, but equally fluffy). It’s practically code for homesickness.

“Have you ever thought about getting a pet?” Daichi asks, hardly looking up from his textbook.

Koushi smiles into his coffee and wonders if Daichi realizes it doesn’t affect him, too, since they _live together_ and all that jazz. His smile drops away when he realized what Daichi had actually suggested, however. “A pet?” he echoes, cautiously.

They don’t have a house, yet. They live in a not shitty but not wondrous apartment, and while their landlord is kind about things like two men who are decidedly _not_ roommates living together, he knows a dog is right out of the question.

Koushi lets his mind wander in the direction of _house_ and doesn’t hear Daichi’s vague, affirmative noise. “…One of my students’ cats just had kittens, it’s all he’s been talking about for a month straight. Distracts everyone with pictures,” Daichi remarks.

Koushi realizes that the earlier comment hadn’t been so casual, after all. “You want to get a cat?” he asks. He isn’t sure whether to be hopeful, or realistic, or wonder what the hell to do with a cat. He’s certainly never had one before, and he’s not sure Daichi has, either.

“Beats a kid,” Daichi grunts, like he’s totally not invested in this conversation. They’ve had the kid talk, yes, and have had enough time and space to be able to joke about it. But Koushi sees the way his glasses slide down his nose; Daichi is only pretending to read, and poorly at that.

Like he’s reading Koushi’s mind now, Daichi glances up at him, over the top of the glasses.

“Can we handle a cat?” Koushi asks, frowning thoughtfully. “They don’t need diapers or baby food. I’m not sure we could handle that kind of responsibility.” Daichi frowns, not so thoughtfully, and Koushi shrugs. “Alright, I’ll bite. How expensive are cats? Do _you_ want a cat?”

“Nothing we couldn’t afford,” Daichi says in that I Married A Doctor voice he gets at times. “Just a thought. Our schedules don’t always sync up, and it’d be nice to have someone who isn’t a snoring lump to come home to, you know?”

Koushi understands the other meaning, too. _For when you’re not here_. “That’s fair,” he replies. They fall silent, Daichi actually returning to his book, Koushi beginning with thoughts of a pet.

He does some research—a good chunk of it just entails speaking to coworkers and patients about cats they own—and he’s a little thankful that it’s Daichi who makes the first joke about it being their child. After that, it’s all game: Koushi takes pictures of himself shopping for baby clothes, Daichi buys a comically massive cat tree before they even get the cat, they bicker about color schemes of beds and food bowls and collars. They hype up the expecting parents thing until several smaller, family-owned stores ask them to leave.

Daichi gives in when Koushi tries to drag him out stroller shopping.

They begin looking at shelters the day after.

Koushi insists on getting the fluffiest cat imaginable, just because he (still) misses Rin, but Daichi points out the shedding issue. Daichi makes an offhand remark about declawing, and Koushi goes on a four-minute speech about how inhumane it is. They settle, hand-in-hand, on just seeing what’s available.

Neither of them had ever been to an animal shelter before, and in hindsight, maybe they ought to have been a little more emotionally prepared.

They leave with literally the first cat they saw.

“Tetsurou is never going to let me live this one down,” Daichi says, grimacing as Koushi fills out the last of the paperwork.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Koushi replies, and Daichi sighs in relief, so that prompts him to add, “He probably doesn’t need to know the _adorable_ sound you made when she reached through the bars to pat at you, either, hm?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Koushi smiles as he signs his name at the bottom and they retrieve their new child. Pet.

“Child,” Daichi whispers in Koushi’s ear, leading him to snort badly as he takes the cardboard carrier from the worker. “We get to take our child home in a cardboard box. How does that make you feel, new father?”

Koushi elbows him as best he can with the meowing cargo, and he busies himself sticking his fingers through the hole for the cat to play with. She meows, plaintive, and doesn’t take the bait. It’s not too long of a trip back, but traffic makes it a little longer than it should, and he properly feels sorry for her by the time they’re in the elevators up to their apartment.

“How does it feel carrying our child home,” Daichi wryly remarks as he unlocks the door for them.

Koushi pretends to sniffle. “I’m so emotional,” he says, choked up, and the cat meows as if in agreement. They shut the door behind them, Daichi does a quick double-check of the place to make sure everything is hopefully cat-proof, and Koushi unfolds the lid.

Orange ears pop out first, rotating carefully, and only after she deems it safe does the cat stick her entire head out. She hops out a moment later, tail held low, ears swivelling as she skirts around Koushi to the nearest piece of furniture—Daichi’s chair—and she slips underneath it.

“What are we going to name her?” Daichi asks. He sits down on the floor with a groan, knees cracking audibly, and Koushi sets the box down and gets a bag of treats before joining him.

“She was Shiro at the center.”

“She’s _orange_.”

“She was white as a kitten,” Koushi points out. Shiro peeks her head out from beneath the chair at the sound of their voices, eyes suddenly large, and surprisingly, not fixed on the bag of treats in Koushi’s hand. “She’s a Siamese, they darken with age. So she’ll probably only get more orange.”

They’d told them that she was just under a year old, all of her shots taken care of, already fixed. She’s healthy and young and an excellent age for first-time cat owners. The cat slinks over, body held low and tail even lower, but she meows insistently at Koushi, poking him with a paw as soon as she’s near.

“If she already has a favorite,” Daichi sighs.

In one blink, Koushi is there next to him and Shiro both, and in the next, Koushi is gone.

He thinks, afterward, that maybe Daichi had meant to say more in that sentence. Koushi scowls, good mood largely gone, then sighs to himself. He can’t help this. Who knows when he’ll get back. He wanted Daichi to have company when he was gone, but he didn’t mean _immediately_ , and he hated disappearing in front of him. This had only been the second time.

The other side is as pale and formless as ever.

When Koushi gets back, he finds Shiro already meowing at him. The apartment is dark, and Koushi squints around until he sees the clock on the microwave: it’s almost four in the morning. He’s not sure what day it is. Koushi sits there, not so much dazed, not anymore, as used to this as he is, but mildly stunned by the insistent cat butting her head against him.

He checks the date on Daichi’s phone before crawling into bed with him. Shiro unassumingly jumps up beside him and curls up between Daichi’s spread legs. He doesn’t wake, and Koushi presses an apologetic kiss to his hair before settling in beside him.

 

…

 

Koushi, for all his confidence in his skills and those of his team, is a little surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.

“Call it,” he hears someone say, distantly, like through layers of fog and cotton. He’d _just_ seen this patient, just that morning, delivered their medication and smiled with them.

The doctor beside him sighs, quiet and leaden. “…Time of death is three twenty-seven—”

Koushi, very suddenly, can’t process having to make that call. He’s never had to before. He’s never dealt with this personally before. He signs what paperwork he must, takes it to the desk to be filed as the others do their jobs, the dreaded part of the job no one ever wants.

Somehow, he still has hours left of his shift. He is surprised to find that everything hasn’t just _stopped_.

He marches, fast but not the same sprint he and the nurses had done when the code was first called, toward the nearest bathroom and is sick before he can process any kind of emotion.

He heaves until his stomach burns and tears drip down from the corners of his eyes. He rinses out his mouth and stares at himself in the mirror. His reflection is drawn, the kind of paleness he associates with patients. His eyes are rimmed with red, bruise-like smudges beneath, and suddenly his white coat feels two sizes too big and far too heavy.

 _You wanted this_ , he tells himself in a fit of desperate self-blame, _you wanted these bad days too_ , and no sooner does the thought come than the emotion _finally_ catches up with him.

He remembers coughing, heaving and sobbing again, of his vision blurring until he couldn’t see. He thinks he collapsed against the sink. He remembers someone else finding him, voice just as watery, and somehow, he made it to one of the call rooms. Today had been one of the nurse’s first death, too, and he finds her already there, nursing a bottle of water like it’s straight vodka.

They don’t directly speak to each other, but Koushi has so rarely felt so connected to another person.

He thumbs the ring on the chain around his neck until his break is over. The rest of his shift is spent busy on his feet, their soreness an almost pleasant counterpoint to the burning in his chest. The rest of the evening is routine. He fetches and delivers medication. He gives directions to a confused elderly couple. He runs tests, updates charts, and doesn’t realize he hasn’t smiled again until he’s being sent home forty minutes early.

Koushi remains in the shower until the water is running lukewarm and Daichi comes home. He somehow knows, like he somehow knows so many things about Koushi’s life, and tugs him out of the cooling water and into the embrace of a particularly fluffy towel.

They fall asleep on the couch, Koushi only half-dressed in his pajamas, the wet towel crumpled at their feet. Koushi has his head pillowed on Daichi’s chest, and is lulled into something like peace by the steady, unwavering heartbeat he finds solace in.

 

…

 

It isn't much to look at from the outside that's for sure. Actually, it isn't much to look at from the inside either.

But, nonetheless, Koushi _loves_ it.

“I love it,” he says, tugging at his firm grip on Daichi’s arm. They are standing on the sidewalk together staring up at the two-story house with slightly crooked eaves and peeling baby yellow paint and a ‘SOLD’ sticker slapped across the ‘For Sale’ sign.

Daichi lets out a soft sigh, just edging on weary. “I know you do, Koushi. That’s the thirtieth time you’ve said so today.”

Koushi turns on him with a coy grin. “You love it too,” he states in lieu of bothering to ask.

The lines between Daichi’s eyes become a bit more prominent with his scowl. “I’ll love it more once it’s habitable.”

“Daichi, you’re so practical sometimes. Don’t be boring.”

“I’m not boring!” Daichi complains around Koushi’s laughter.

“You love it,” Koushi tries again.

Daichi pinches at his arm. “I love _you_ ,” he says and then adds warily, “and I do love this house, if for no other reason than it finally being _ours_.”

The words make Koushi’s skin quiver and for a brief, freeing instant he thinks about how _happy_ he is in this moment. It is both assuring and terrifying all at once.

“I love you too,” Koushi agrees, then turns abruptly about face, dragging Daichi with him. “Now onwards to the hardware store!”

The hardware store, as it turns out, is a much larger and more formidable place now that he and Daichi have an actual, big-time, house-size project on their hands.

So, to combat any over-thinking on his end, Koushi grabs the first cart he can find and pushes off with his right foot until the rickety wheels shoot him past a very startled Daichi and straight in the direction of the paint counter. That seems like the easiest place to start, anyways.

“You’re a grown man, Koushi,” Daichi calls from behind, not even bothering to hide the dull amusement in his voice.

“There you are, Mr. Boring again,” Koushi huffs, coming to an abrupt halt and allowing Daichi to catch up to him. “Besides, I am not _old_.”

Daichi shoots him an unimpressed glance. “You’re—”

“Shh, shh, Daichi!” Koushi interrupts with a hiss, slapping a wild palm over Daichi’s stubbly jaw. “You don’t need to go broadcasting that kind of information!”

From beneath the hand Daichi is laughing.

Two hours later they trudge through the front door, towing suitcases behind them, their arms laden with sleeping bags and groceries, the fireproof safe, Koushi’s laptop and Daichi’s overflowing briefcase, odds and ends of all sorts including a couple of fought-for cans of Mermaid Blue paint and, of course, a very loudly purring Shiro.

As they step through the front door and let their various belongings fall to the dusty wood floor Koushi lets out a squeak as he feels hands tug him backwards, pawing insistently at his waist.

“What—” he gasps, but Daichi’s already got him on the other side of the threshold, bending and grabbing at the backs of Koushi’s knees.

Koushi splutters and wiggles as Daichi lifts him with surprising ease. “You’re crazy,” he sputters, still wriggling. “You’ll hurt yourself! Besides, we’ve been married for years!”

“I won’t,” Daichi assures him, nuzzling playfully against Koushi’s neck to stop his squirming. “I’m younger than you, remember?”

Koushi’s glare is palpable, but Daichi smiles right through it, kissing the bridge of his nose softly and angling him through the doorway and across the threshold before Koushi can find the words to flesh out his protest.

“Besides,” Daichi adds as he gently sets Koushi back on his feet. “I never got to do that— _properly_ at least.”

With all the genuine seriousness he can muster, Koushi places a hand over his chest. “Be still my beating heart,” he deadpans. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not a romantic, Sawamura Daichi.”

Daichi rolls his eyes, but the telltale blush peeking through is enough for Koushi. “Come on,” he says around his fluster. “You want to paint the living room before the furniture arrives tomorrow, so guess what we’re going to do?”

Koushi beams. “Paint the living room.”

“And hope the fumes don’t get us in our sleep,” Daichi grumbles as he maneuvers past their miniature mountain of eclectic belongings.

The fumes don’t get Daichi, but an hour into their little project Koushi’s paint brush definitely does.

“It was an accident!” Koushi shrieks through his laughter, moving to place Daichi’s suitcase and gym bag in between them in a very incriminating manner.

“This—” Daichi says with that horribly calm smile of his as he gestures to the swipe of turquoise paint now drying against his cheek. “—was definitely _not_ an accident.”

Despite the makeshift barrier, Daichi inches forward, his own paintbrush in hand and loaded up with a fair amount of shining bluish-green paint and a slicing challenge in his gaze directed straight at Koushi.

He may deserve it, but still Koushi shakes his head vehemently, even going so far as to push his lower lip out for good measure. “Daichi, you stay away from me with that!” he commands.

Incredulous, Daichi just takes a few more steps forward. “You’re the one who started it!”

Something shifts in Koushi’s expression and his pouting innocence is traded in for something much more frightening. “Yeah and I’m gonna be the one to finish it too,” he announces deviously, brandishing his brush like a prized weapon of choice.

“ _Koushi_ ,” Daichi warns but it’s too late. Koushi jumps and now no one is safe. Not even Daichi’s poor luggage and especially not Shiro’s tail.

Scrubbing turquoise out of the cat’s fur ends up being Koushi’s punishment, but he accepts it happily and humbly, claw-marks and all, finally home sweet home.

 

…

 

It’s been two weeks since the funeral and Daichi still feels a heavy weight on his chest.

They’ve barely touched since, though not out of depression or fear or unwillingness, just life getting in the way; the usual. Throughout the years they’ve learned to make the most of it, but right now it feels like things are slipping through his grasp and that is not something Daichi has experienced in a long, long time.

“How are things going at work?” the voice crackles calmly over his phone, left on speaker atop the kitchen counter.

Daichi busies himself chopping vegetables for dinner. “Fine,” he answers, because there is really nothing else to say.

On the other line he hears a muffled sigh. Daichi has gotten used to this, used to the phone calls and used to the generic conversation and he doesn’t mind it so much, but everyone seems to be running out of things to really talk about. Today it’s Asahi’s turn. Tomorrow it might be Ennoshita or Tetsurou, he hasn’t really been keeping track, but he knows he can count on the daily phone calls like clockwork. He also knows, without a doubt, that this is all Koushi’s doing.

Daichi is not depressed, exactly. It’s life, these things happen everyday. But death is scary, especially scary with each year he grows older and, perhaps most of all, when it is the loss of a parent. He’s not depressed or even resentful, but Koushi has been gone for what feels like an eternity and just imagining where he is or what he might be doing has Daichi’s hands shaking uncontrollably.

He sets the knife down carefully and turns towards the phone again. “Do you believe in the afterlife?” he asks aloud, cutting through the silence.

Asahi seems to stutter in surprise and Daichi can vividly imagine his frown at such a question. “I’d like to think there’s something,” he answers, smoother and more confident than he might have years ago.

Daichi nods even though he knows Asahi cannot see it. “Thank you for the call,” he says and there is a finality in his voice, just as there has been with every phone call previous.

“Of course,” Asahi says just before he hangs up and as the line goes dead Daichi is finally able to breath again. His lungs burn and his head starts to ache, but things are getting better, he just wishes—

The door opens with the sound of keys scraping and jingling and Shiro beckons the new arrival with a loud yowl echoing from the entryway.

Daichi feels the tiniest bit of weight lift off of his chest as he hears that familiar voice, muffled through the walls of their house, but coming closer with each passing heartbeat.

Koushi appears in the kitchen doorway a second later, coming to lean against the wall casually with the obvious intent on pretending like he isn’t dead on his feet. Daichi swallows at the thought, but frowns towards Koushi like he always does before he ushers the other straight into bed.

He takes in Koushi’s appearance, his age showing a bit more than usual, eyes sunken, and the fingers he tries to hide in the sleeves of his jacket shaking almost as badly as Daichi’s had been a few moments before. But somehow today he can’t bring himself to nudge the other away, down the hall to a warm shower and a much-needed nap.

Instead he steps forward, stance as steady as it can be.

“Did you—?” he leaves the question hanging open in the air between them, not quite able to bring himself to say anything more.

“Yes, I did.” Koushi’s voice is tired, but not without warmth. “She’s fine, Daichi.”

Daichi nods in understanding, not able to move anymore so Koushi closes the gap between them.

“She’s—” Koushi wraps his arms around shoulders that begin to shake. “—she’s at peace.”


	5. and sometimes you didn't want to know the end, because how could the end be happy?

“Don’t pull on her tail!” Koushi scolds. The little boy freezes, hand still outstretched, Cocoa still eyeing him warily. “That’s very mean, we’re _nice_ to kitties, Kazu-kun.”

Kazuki frowns, almost like he’s thinking it over. The expression is almost unbearably adorable on a three-year-old. Cocoa slinks away and jumps up onto Daichi’s lap a moment later.

“I’m not so upset we missed this milestone, if I’m honest,” Koushi murmurs, mostly to himself. He knows Daichi would probably laugh and agree, but he’s not going to begrudge the man a nap when he’d been up late grading papers. (Again.)

Grandkids. _Grandchildren_. Koushi can hardly believe it. He’s the darling only child of his coworker Tomoe’s eldest, and she’s only four years older than him.

When did he get to be an old man?

“Old, right,” Daichi scoffs, and Koushi flushes when he realizes he’d said the last bit out loud. “You’ve had grey hair as long as I’ve known you.”

“Sawamura, don’t start _that_ again,” Koushi says and swats at his shoulder. “Kazu-kun, come here. It’s supposed to be quiet time, remember?” It’s not only Daichi’s supposed nap time, after all. Koushi had just gotten the little boy halfway settled when he’d become enamored with the cat again.

Age has smoothed over some of the bumps when dealing with kids, and both of them have had practice at their jobs. (Koushi fondly remembers when Daichi had recounted a harrowing tale of when he’d had to babysit a student’s infant while she’d taken a final.) Children aren’t quite so bad. At a distance. Even if he keeps wanting to tuck Kazuki into a bed and call a nurse to watch him instead.

Daichi _oof_ s as Kazuki crawls up onto his chair, seeking Cocoa once more, and she abandons Daichi with a whine. Koushi takes the opportunity to wrap them both in a blanket, binding Daichi to their ward, completely unrepentant.

“Time to go to sleep,” he announces brightly.

“Don’t wanna,” Kazuki grumbles. He knows better than to struggle and kick with Daichi right there, which was honestly exactly as planned.

“I’m not sure I want to anymore, either,” Daichi mumbles. He shifts, awkwardly, like the little boy is made of nothing more than glass and spiderweb. “ _How much longer_ ,” he mouths over the top of Kazuki’s head.

“Until five,” Koushi whispers back, and kisses the tip of Daichi’s nose, just to be cheeky. “Kazu-kun, when you wake up again, we can have the mochi your grandmother gave us. How does that sound?”

“Mm,” he thoughtfully cocks his head again, “‘kay. But I don’t wanna.”

“No nap, no snack. Them’s the rules,” Daichi says. He reclines further in the chair and Kazuki ends up smushed further against his side. He flails, just a little, and Koushi tucks him in again. Futile.

Alright, so first rule of babysitting: keep the cat from clawing the kid. Second rule: pin them down and wrap them up in blankets. Third rule: bribe with sweets. Koushi thinks he’s getting the hang of this, at last.

Cocoa winds her way through his legs, meowing, complaining about being kicked out of her spot. Daichi, too, looks like he misses her, but the way Kazuki eyes her doesn’t mean good things. Koushi scoops her up and takes her out of the living room to let them have some quiet time to _hopefully_ fall asleep.

He reads in the bedroom until his own eyelids droop. The late afternoon sunlight angles in through the window, and the cat sprawls out in the sunbeam, dozing. Seems like it’s a quiet day all around.

When Koushi checks on them again, both of them are asleep. Daichi is snoring softly, the rumbling kind deep in his chest, and Kazuki is drooling onto the blanket tucked aggressively under his chin. Cocoa slinks out after Koushi, and, after making sure the threat has been subdued, she jumps up to curl up on Daichi’s lap again.

Koushi takes a picture of the three of them, texts it to Tomoe, and sets it as his phone wallpaper.

There’s nothing wistful in the move, no longing for the children they never had. (Their cats through the years have been enough, even if he had to endure untold amounts of cat lady jokes at work.) Koushi has been happy, so blessedly happy, with his life so far. He doesn’t think it macabre to think he’s lucky to have gotten to the age where he worries about coworkers’ grandkids, and maybe a few stray grey hairs, and maintaining their house. He’s _so_ lucky.

 

…

 

“I’m telling you, it’s noticeable,” Daichi says, holding up a picture. It’s only the slightest bit faded from age, kept safe all these years in various frames, but the color is vibrant and the memories held within fresh enough. Daichi makes a mental note to call up Asahi, looking down at their high school selves; it’d been what, almost two years since they’d really talked. He never wanted to be the type of person who drifted away from friends like that.

“It is not,” Koushi says, coming over to cross his arms, tilt his chin back, and give Daichi that Look. It’s the I Have Definitely Not Gone Grey look.

“Your hair is _definitely_ lighter,” Daichi maintains and thrusts the photo at him. “Look at this.”

Koushi winds his fingers through Daichi’s short hair, one hand on each side of his head, and _pulls_. “And you’re one to talk? My hair is still _wonderful_ , thank you, but you’re looking like a hair dye commercial more and more every day.”

It had been blatantly obvious (to Koushi) when Daichi had gotten his first grey hair. There’d been the usual jabs of ‘ _you’re_ making me go grey’, and Daichi hadn’t honestly paid much mind to the teasing. But… alright, he can’t fight this.

But he’s pulling Koushi down with him.

“You’ve been grey. Your entire life,” Daichi maintains in a perfect deadpan. He’s had so many years to master it in the face of Koushi’s unrestrained joyous teasing. (He’s glad for so much time to practice.) Koushi pulls a little harder at his hair, enough to sting in a way he’s not sure is pleasant anymore. “It just took me awhile to catch up. And apparently, I still have further to go, based on the fact that you’re going _white_.”

“I’m not going _white_ ,” Koushi admonishes and releases Daichi’s head after one last parting tug. “And, anyway, I still look the same as ever. Everyone knows me like this. You, on the other hand—”

“Distinguished, that’s what you said the other night,” Daichi reminds him. He purposefully pitches his voice half an octave lower and Koushi blinks at him, _definitely_ remembering the other night.

“It was the suit,” he defends, half-heartedly at best. “And… maybe just a little bit the rest of you.”

“Aging like a fine wine,” Daichi, victorious, announces and he sets the photo back down in favor of wrapping his arms around his husband. “Little comparison to you, but how can I compare to such a stunning _silver fox_ —”

“I will put white bleach in your shampoo bottle.”

“You use it twice as much as me.”

“It’s _more noticeable_ on you,” Koushi replies. He grudgingly accepts the affection when Daichi pulls them flush and presses small kisses from the mole by his eye down to the bottom of his jaw. Daichi’s hands stray from Koushi’s hips to the back pockets on the jeans he’s wearing, and Koushi scoffs all over again at that. “Trying to recapture a bit of youth, hm?”

“If I’m ever too old to grab you, put me in the coffin then.”

“I’d come haunt you every day. Shiro would be beside herself with yowling alongside me. You wouldn’t know what to do with the two of us again.”

“I want to be a hundred and still making passes at you, Koushi,” Daichi says and _finally_ Koushi’s facade cracks and he smiles, small and private. “Even if you get even more wrinkles—”

“They’re _laugh lines_ and I’m having none of this from an old, stuffy professor who forgets his glasses every five minutes like he’s eighty.”

Koushi detaches Daichi’s hands, and, managing an expression that Daichi can really only call a stern grin, he ducks out from his attempt at reclaiming him. Daichi watches him leave, making a show at staring at his ass, arms folded across his chest.

He glances down at the photo again, after a beat.

He’s not sure his high school self would dare believe how lucky he’s gotten.

 

…

 

“You know, retirement would certainly lend us more opportunities for time spent together like this,” Daichi says offhandedly one evening as they sit curled together on the couch, the faint narration of a documentary neither are really watching and the purring of a cat hidden somewhere beneath the table making up the background noise.

Koushi hums in response, but does not fully answer as his eyes strain to follow the fingers of Daichi’s hand as they trace nonsensical patterns against the skin of his arm in the dim light of their living room.

The thought of retirement doesn’t exactly sit well with Koushi. It’s not exactly a rational phobia, he knows. Maybe it’s the thought of getting up in the morning and having nothing to do, no express purpose, that bothers him so much. It might be the stereotypical notion that retirees are no longer capable or just too old (he’s never felt old or incapable and he certainly isn’t going to start feeling that way anytime soon). Maybe it’s just the idea of another joyous milestone being reached.

But the reasoning doesn’t really matter, Koushi simply just doesn’t feel _ready_ yet.

When Daichi brings up such topics Koushi knows he isn’t pressuring or even suggesting. He’s stating the obvious, a fact verbatim, as straightforward and rational as he has always been. In fact, Daichi himself has yet to fully throw in the towel, counseling a select group of grad students and lingering in his office proofreading thesis papers and the occasional grant proposal.

They are both comfortable in their work, not bogged down with as many pressures as in their younger years. Things are slower and simpler but fulfilling and maybe that’s the reason the word _retirement_ just doesn’t have much ring to it in Koushi’s ears. He is gratefully content with the path life has taken him down and he would like very much to keep pressing forward in order to see where else it might lead.

Besides, until the hospital decides to physically throw him out, he’s not about to give up the job he loves only second to one thing in this entire world. What was the saying—all in due time?

“Where did that come from all of a sudden?” Koushi wonders finally, looking up to find Daichi’s eyes on him, clear and unobstructed by his usual wire frames.

He shrugs one shoulder, jostling Koushi a bit with the movement. “I don’t know, I guess I was just getting sentimental,” he answers, soft and perhaps a little bashful. “Thinking about how lucky we’ve gotten to have spent so many wonderful years together.”

“And many years to come,” Koushi interrupts with a forceful pat to Daichi’s chest. “Don’t you dare even think about talking in the past tense.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean—well—“ Daichi stumbles, just a bit. “I was just wondering—do you think we’ll meet again, Koushi?”

The question is not what he’d been expecting. Koushi feels his lips twisting up at first, ready with a laugh or a joke, but then he meets Daichi’s gaze again and it is so incredibly insistent that it practically knocks the air out of his lungs.

Daichi is waiting for an answer—an answer that Koushi cannot give him. That look Koushi knows well; he is serious, above all else, and he is waiting for something that Koushi has never really considered before.

Believing in the afterlife is one thing. Believing that they would be lucky enough to have a _second_ chance at fate? The idea is almost too much for him, but he smiles anyways, if only just for Daichi.

“Haven’t you had enough of me yet?” he whispers, unable to quite let the opportunity pass.

Daichi matches his grin with something softer, something knowing, like he’d been expecting such an answer from Koushi all along.

“Not in a thousand lifetimes,” he says, startling the both of them in the best way possible, and _that_ is an answer Koushi simply can’t beat.

 

…

 

The years pass like sand and Koushi’s disappearances get fewer and farther between.

It is with this realization (and his newly, begrudgingly retired and a little bit bored self) that Koushi decides one day to start using their frequent flyer miles for something other than visiting already grown nieces and nephews or attending conferences that he fears he’s getting a bit too old for.

_Too old_. Koushi grimaces, squinting at the computer screen in front of him and pressing the little blue ‘ _book tickets’_ icon with much more force than necessary.

Two weeks later he’s lying in a hotel room, reclining on the king sized bed and watching as his husband methodically buttons up a horribly garish looking Hawaiian shirt he’d insisted upon buying expressly for the trip.

“You look like an old man in that,” Koushi says, frowning.

Daichi does not bother to look up from his task. “I’m not exactly a spring chicken,” he says absently.

“See, just you saying things like that—” Koushi flicks some petulant fingers in his general direction. “—is proving my point.”

“Koushi, dear,” Daichi sighs (but not without a small hint of definite affection). “I’m not even arguing with you.”

People had always equated them to an Old Married Couple. Now it’s for real and Koushi has started growing a bit resentful of that (only the _old_ part, of course) and Daichi’s nonchalance and more than salt-and-pepper hair is certainly not helping.

But there is some sort of small novelty in growing old, Koushi thinks, if only for the fact that he ( _they_ ) have made it this far.

The beach they walk along later that evening proves to be just as beautiful as he’d imagined; the photographs they snap don’t seem to do it justice and so memories will just have to do. The sand beneath their bare feet is cool and soft and the water that laps at their ankles, crystal and tinted purple with the deep glow of sunset.

The stresses of a life gone by seem to fall to the wayside more and more with each passing day. They spend two-odd weeks on the big island before travelling by sea-plane to the next and then a third a few days after that. They have the money and the time and Koushi only misses a handful of hours in the grand scheme of things. When he returns Daichi is waiting, like always, and they sleep through the day together and watch the stars overhead come midnight.

Koushi feels a sense of happiness that he’s never experienced before and only for a few seconds does he allow himself to entertain the dread that comes along with that. He’s comfortable and secure, not over-thinking— _satisfied_.

A life well spent. A life _still being_ well spent.

When they return home nearly a month later things are just as they’ve left them. Daichi hangs up his flowery shirts and Koushi adds another picture frame to the gallery that has accumulated over the years in the downstairs hallway.

“Where to next?” Daichi wonders some time later over breakfast.

Koushi looks to him with that same sense of satisfaction all over again. “ _Anywhere_ ,” he says.

 

…

 

Daichi watches from the edge of his vision as the mid-morning sunlight illuminates the soft curls and fluff of Koushi’s (definitely _white_ ) hair. They’ve taken to walking every morning, down the street and over several blocks to the park with the cherry blossom trees Koushi is so fond of, especially come springtime. It is good for the heart and the joints, Koushi likes to explain in that doctorly tone he’s not yet been able to totally abandon, but Daichi is partial to just spending time with his husband and would allow himself to be led fifty miles each way and back if that’s what it took.

Sometimes they get coffees to-go or have breakfast at a small café where they’ve come to be known by name (Daichi _has_ always been a creature of habit and Koushi certainly doesn’t seem to mind). Other times they just walk hand-in-hand, uncaring of any prying eyes after all this time. Today Koushi has chosen a bench closest to the pond, rustling around in his coat pocket for the last bits of bread he’d procured from their kitchen pantry.

Daichi studies him closely from his seat, thigh pressed against the other’s, warm and close and steady. The angle has Daichi tempted to count every last silvery lash shadowing over Koushi’s cheekbones.

Time has given them a few more wrinkles on their hands and Koushi finally has to wear glasses to read now too (Daichi is not always good at hiding his satisfaction at this) but really things haven’t changed much.

Koushi coos a bit at the ducks soliciting at their feet, the same way he used to do when they were just children with Rin or even in their older years with their many feline companions.

Daichi cannot quell the urge to lean in and kiss him, so he does and the flesh of Koushi’s cheek feels just as soft as it did when they were teenagers and unsure and naïve.

Koushi turns to him with a faint blush peaking through porcelain skin that has grown a little paler with age. “What was that for?” he asks around a burgeoning smile.

Daichi meets the question with a little shrug and turns to hide a flush he is definitely much too old for. It seems silly the way Koushi can still have such an effect on him, even after all these years.

He shifts a bit and his bones creak and the duck nearest them lets out an impatient squawk from below. Koushi ignores it, or perhaps cannot hear it, which could absolutely be true since the onset of an age neither seem to care to keep track of lately.

They sit together for a while longer until they run out of bread and the ducks disperse and the traffic in the park around them seems to pick up in pace. When they stand to leave, Daichi wraps an arm around Koushi’s waist and pulls him close. Koushi stifles a laugh and admonishment against Daichi’s shoulder, but lets himself be held like that the entire way home, regardless.

 

…

 

“Here,” Suga says, soft as a breath. “Let me help.” His fingers shake only half as powerfully as Daichi’s own as he plucks closed the buttons on his crisp, grey shirt.

Daichi’s black suit is well-worn, dulled with age and more use as of late than either man would like to speak of.

Suga’s gaze falls down to his own charcoal slacks, looser on his hips than they’ve ever been before, so he pads back into the closet in search of a belt.

The sky is not dark; it is not raining, like the cliché might have one believe. Instead the sun shines down amidst the autumn coolness and leaves trickle down to the browning grass, a whirlwind of amber and red. It is an almost painfully beautiful backdrop to the sea of black and red rimmed eyes and polished mahogany.

“‘We must not demean life by standing in awe of death’,” the man at the podium says and Koushi’s fingers wrap tighter against Daichi’s own.

Afterwards they sit in a familiar house on a couch all too similar to their own sipping at tea and catching up with long-lost acquaintances. They all seem to silently agree that such a reunion would have been pleasant under any other circumstances, but no one voices the thought in favor of recounting memories long since forgotten and hiding grief behind nostalgia.

By the end of it all Daichi looks drawn and exhausted and Koushi cannot imagine he looks any better. His last disappearance was three months ago and the weight of uncertainty has been lingering heavy in the air around them.

_Do not stand in awe of death_ , the voice inside Koushi’s mind commands, so when they arrive home he guides Daichi into the kitchen and procures a bottle of wine from the rack on the counter to dust off and sets about helping his husband start the routine preparations for dinner.

 

…

 

It is an odd feeling for Koushi to walk into the hospital without his lab coat or badge. It is even odder to be signing discharge papers rather than being the one to administer them.

Daichi is well enough to go home today. But Koushi knows well enough too that the laundry list of medications and paperwork and test results do nothing more than undermine the small relief of being released.

He’s known the attending physician for years and when Koushi knocks softly at the open door of Daichi’s private room he doesn’t miss the extra care in Imada-san’s gaze. Koushi does his best not to dwell on it, all the same.

He can’t really bring himself to cry and he knows that Daichi would have absolutely none of it, so he doesn’t and instead drives them home with one hand on the steering wheel and the other wrapped in Daichi’s own (even with as much as the latter protests).

They start to spend more time outside than in, the days growing longer and hotter, but the coolness of their shaded patio and the vibrancy of the small garden Koushi strives to maintain make everything bearable and easy.

The fear of disappearing at a time when he seems to be needed most has piqued, striking Koushi painfully nearly any moment he’s not preoccupying himself with cooking or cleaning or keeping Daichi company. So he keeps himself busy and each morning that he wakes from restless sleep still in this realm with Daichi beside him feels more and more like some sort of unexplainable recompense.

When Daichi pats his knees from his chair one evening as Koushi fusses over a crop of weeping lavender Koushi fights the urge to immediately protest. “You’re crazy, old man,” he mutters around a fond smile, but Daichi just waits patiently with an insistent look that Koushi cannot bring himself to argue with.

As Koushi lightly sits and Daichi wraps arms around him, it is startlingly obvious how much thinner and frailer the man has become. But when he speaks his voice is still the same, still warm and resonant, still able to melt the tension in Koushi’s muscles as easily as it has since they were just starting out.

“Do you remember when you first told me about—” Daichi get’s stuck on the word only for a second, no fault of his own. “—well, _you?”_

The memory settles into Koushi’s mind instantly and when he turns to look down at Daichi he can only see the young boy with ink-black hair, curious eyes, and still round cheeks. “Yes,” he chuckles agreeably. “How can I forget, with the way you referred to things for the first several years. I believe ‘magicky’ was the term.” He watches Daichi’s smile grow at that. “Why do you bring it up?”

“I suppose I never actually thanked you,” Daichi says, shifting his hold a bit tighter around Koushi’s own slightly thinner midsection.

Koushi frowns, searching Daichi’s eyes through the darkening evening light. “Thanked me?”

“For trusting me enough to tell me.”

This time around Koushi can’t quite keep the wetness out of his voice. “Of course, Daichi,” he whispers through the constricting ache in his throat. “I love you.” He swallows once, twice. “I think I have, _always_.”

The answering kiss, soft and chaste against his lips, is enough proof of that.

 

…

 

Koushi has seen so many people on these hospital beds. Young, old, any and every gender, all walks of life and too many illnesses and injuries and hurts.

It never gets any easier, when it’s someone he knows.

It doesn’t get any easier when he’s seen the sight before.

No amount of practice with that in the entire history of the universe could have prepared him for seeing Daichi hooked up to beeping machines and monitors. _His_ beeping machines and monitors. They’re more ominous now, too loud, and almost by memory Koushi can hear something _off_.

Guilt gnaws at him when he first comes into the room, still dressed in the slacks and sweater he’d been wearing when he’d vanished two days ago. Koushi has missed so many things—but this, _this_ —

Daichi cracks open an eye and smiles. His face is all tired, tender lines, and he’s looking so, _so_ old and frail. Koushi has never once seen his husband look weak before, because he’s not, he never has been. Daichi is strength itself. Daichi is the immovable pillar against which Koushi can always brace himself and find his own strength.

But still, he smiles, and there’s only warmth in his voice when he croaks, “Koushi.”

“I’m back,” Koushi replies mechanically. He’s lucky when he gets to say ‘I’m home’, but this isn’t one of those times.

“Maybe you’re only half after all,” Daichi says.

It’s been literal decades since he’d last heard that joke. It usually accompanied Koushi’s usual exacerbated emotions around happy periods, yet it doesn’t sting now. Koushi’s disappearances mean he’s not human, not completely, but _that_ … Koushi swallows, and looks over the chart hanging at the foot of Daichi’s bed before he sits down. It’s something to do with his eyes and hands. He already knows the details.

It seems like another decade has passed before he’s ready to sit down in the chair pulled up next to the stark white bed.

“I know,” Daichi sighs. He closes his eyes again, smile gone but demeanor still gentle. “I already know, you don’t have to say it.”

Koushi isn’t sure he _could_ say it.

“I’m sorry I was gone,” he says instead, even though Daichi understands, has _always_ understood. Daichi makes a noncommittal acknowledgement, eyes still closed. His hair is more grey than black now; Koushi finds himself wishing for _little_ things, now, even when faced with this. He wanted to see the rest of Daichi’s hair go. He wanted to see who would go bald first. He wanted to deal with arthritis, and worsening diets, and more pills added to their mornings, and needing a cane full time. He wanted so many more days full of ducks and breadcrumbs.

“You’re here now,” Daichi says only after it’s clear Koushi can’t say anything else. “I knew you’d come back. You always did.”

“Well, it only takes once,” Koushi replies with a weak smile.

“You’ve said that since we were ten.”

“I was eleven when I told you. Your memory’s going.”

“I can’t believe you came back into my life again to _sass_ me. Isn’t there a rule against doctors sassing patients?” Daichi complains.

Koushi reaches out, brushing his knuckles against the skin of Daichi’s cheek. He needs to shave, and he looks pale and gaunt and a lot of things Koushi associates both with himself during his disappearances as well as past patients. “You bring out the rule-breaker in me. You always have.”

“You were a miscreant even before we met,” Daichi replies. He pauses to cough, and Koushi’s heart clenches with fear. He doesn’t sound good. “And no matter how long we’ve been together, there’s no way I could change that about you.” He reopens his eyes, and smiles again, a little more tiredly. “Not that I’d want to.”

“I don’t even follow the rules of this world,” Koushi jokes with most of his remaining strength. It’s slipping, fast, almost as fast as Daichi is.

“What a little devil I married,” Daichi sighs. He coughs again, and Koushi reaches out to take his hand. When Daichi squeezes back, there’s a firmness to his grip. It brings a stinging prickle to his eyes worse than anything else could.

Koushi scoots the chair as close as he can manage to the bed, hand never leaving Daichi’s, and rests his head against his shoulder regardless of how awkward the position is or how it makes his back complain. Daichi is still warm, still here, still alive with him. They’re still together. He’s still keeping his promise.

“I love you, Sawamura Daichi,” Koushi tells him, voice only the smallest touch hoarse.

“And I love you,” Daichi replies. He squeezes Koushi’s hand again. “With all my heart, for all my life.”

It’s an echo of their vows, and Koushi’s smile widens despite the tremor it causes in his body. “For all my life,” he repeats. “Thank you for sharing all of it with me.”

 

…

 

He’s all cried out. Shockingly few tears, but he’d seen the entire spectrum of grief throughout the years, and he does not dwell on trying to do any better. He’s exhausted, from so many things, from so much he’s lost today. For the first time in his life, he _wishes_ he could disappear.

_I’m still here_.

He doesn’t want to be.

_We must not demean life_ —

Koushi sighs, ragged and weary. There’s very little left to demean, now.

_Why am I still here?_ Koushi thinks dully, staring at his bedroom ceiling. The house is dark, cold, and lonely. It’s too large and too empty now. It’s been hollowed out, heart carved out from within it—and he knows he’s not thinking of the house. Their house. _Their_ house. His house, now.

So why is he still here?

He must sleep so he can get up early to continue preparations. His eyes itch but don’t close.

Koushi has _never_ paid any attention to Daichi’s half theory before, since it didn’t hold up against two seconds of proper thought. Half just couldn’t exist. It’s a miracle he exists at all, after all, feeling old in a way he never has before, not when he had Daichi right next to him for all this time. So, _so_ many years, so many years Koushi had never truly expected to have.

He had never expected to live such a full, happy life. It’s a gift he surely hadn’t thanked enough people for, certainly not Daichi. How does one go from fearing an end at every waking moment to ending up a widower in old age?

He had rarely faced the prospect of old age, and seldom thought about being _alone_ , as blessed as he’d been to have Daichi with him every step of the way. He’d feared leaving Daichi alone almost as much, but it had never seemed like an option before.

_Not an option_ , he thinks, blinking slowly, dry-eyed in the face of the unchanging ceiling above. How does someone live with not only this kind of loss, but a recontextualization of their entire world?

Koushi does not understand why he is _still here_.

He has walked on other planes of existence. He has spoken with beings not of this world, managed short reunions with some who had already passed, and has lost out on so many things due to these unwanted trips. School had been hell and he’d nearly lost his job more than once. He had missed two birthdays and an anniversary.

And now, the greatest fact of his existence that he had always taken as truth—gone. It left him, too.

_I’m still here. What would I have done over?_ Koushi wonders, as self-sabotaging as ever, even when he had thought he had been able to overcome these parts of himself.

But, to his mild surprise, he cannot find many answers.

_Maybe I would have married Daichi earlier_. But they were still together, and they did end up married. He still isn’t sure about children. They both had satisfying careers they were happy with. They managed to buy a house together. Koushi has seen so many of his friends and family grow old with him. He has had a rich, full life, full of more happiness than he _ever_ dared hope for.

There’s no day he could distinctly pick out as his happiest. He doesn’t know how to face the prospect of a better day to come, not when he faces it without his husband.

He knows how to face the prospect that it wasn’t true even less.

_Which is kinder?_ Koushi has carefully and steadily trained himself to believe in the joy in life, over a long lifetime of love given to him and opportunities taken. Risks taken, even. He has believed in the future his whole life, that there would always be that _one better day_ to hold out for. He doesn’t _want_ to believe in a happy future without Daichi in it, not in this dark, lonely moment, and maybe not ever. He’s spent _so long_ with him—

It comes to Koushi in a flash.

_Oh_.

He got to spend a lifetime with Daichi.

He got to spend a long, happy life with the love of his life, surrounded by friends, family, and people he cared about.

He got to grow up with Daichi, he got to graduate high school and then university, got to help people despite the pain it brought. He got to help grade papers, and travel together, and even retire. He got to marry Daichi, and adopt cats, and see his friends’ weddings. He got to see friends’ grandchildren, and the faces of people he helped save, and listen to Daichi give speeches at his students’ graduations.

He had the chance to _grow old_ with Daichi.

Even now, it seems too soon, but Koushi is suddenly, overpoweringly overcome by the realization that he has gotten _so much_ out of a life he expected so little from.

Despite himself, Koushi breaks into a grin.

_Oh_ , he thinks, utterly dizzy with happiness, and then—

That’s it.

 

…

 

What can you say at a funeral?

Some say that no one truly dies so long as they’re remembered. As long as they’re loved, or the love left behind remains. As long as something lingers in the world, then so do they.

Some people don’t _want_ to linger in the world.

Some people have spent so long walking in both worlds that they deserve a rest.

Though funerals can be sad, though there are always those left behind, sometimes there are the high points. Sometimes people get to go together. Sometimes lovers reunite. Sometimes there’s even happiness to be found amongst caskets and grassy hills marked by headstones.

Happiness, after all, is never finite, never exact, and envelops you when you least expect it.

Daichi’s arm is already extended, hand out as Koushi rushes toward him. He has made this trip so many times, but never as now, never with anything to look forward to. His goal has always been to return to Daichi. To return to love and happiness.

As soon as they meet again, Koushi informs him, breathless with joy, “I never break a promise, either.”


End file.
